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By Myrtle Reed 

Love Letters of a Musician 

Later Love Letters of a Musician 

The Spinster Boole 

Lavender and Old Lace 

Pickaback Songs 

The Shadow of Victory 

The Master's Violin 

The Book of Clever Beasts 





/ I 






The Book of Clever 
Beasts 

Studies in Unnatural History 

By 

Myrtle Reed 
Illustrated by Peter Newell 




G. P. Putnam's Sons 

New York and London 

XLbc Iknicfterbochec press 

1904 






OCi 11 .904 



Oooyrfehf entr</ 
CLASS A XXo. No 

9^77 S- 

' CO^Y B 



Copyright, 1904 

V J BY 

'^lYRTLE REED 



Published, October, 1904 





Dedicated to 

Lovers of Truth 

Everywhere 



CONTENTS 



CHAPT 
I. 


BR 

Little Upsidaisi 






PAGE 
I 


II. 


Jagg, the Skootaway Goat 






22 


III. 


Snoof .... 






. 51 


IV. 


KiTCHI-KlTCHI . 






82 


V. 


Jim Crow .... 






108 


VI. 


Hoop-La .... 






136 


VII. 


Jenny Ragtail 






168 


VIII. 


HOOT-MON . . . . 






T98 


IX. 


Appendix 






225 




ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

" She made them gallop around an imaginary 

ring " . . . . , . Frontispiece 

*' Instinctively, I followed them " . . . . 20 

" There was something very human in the grateful 

look he gave me just before closing his eyes " 36 

"Her little hand rested confidingly in his great 

paw "........ 68 

" She arrived on the fair, open page of my obser- 
vation ledger, sooty, panting, but thoroughly 
happy " 94 

" Put the crotch under his wing, and with this im- 
provised crutch, went back to the cabin " ,116 

*' Hoop-La sat beside me, with her hands on her 
sides, rocking and swaying in a spasm of 
merriment" ....... 154 

*' In plain sight of the whole school, punished him 

severely with a lady's slipper " . . .186 

" Coquetting like lovers on a moonlight night " . 204 







^^> \x.^ 






BIBLIOGRAPHY 

Although practically all the Nature Books of recent 
years have been carefully studied in order to gather 
material for this volume, the author desires to make 
grateful acknowledgment of her indebtedness to the 
following works, which have proved particularly helpful 
and suggestive ; 

John Burroughs : 

Squirrels and Other Fur-Bearers, 
"Real and Sham Natural History," Atlantic Monthly ^ 
March, 1903. 

William Davenport Hulbert : 
Forest Neighbours. 

Ernest Ingersoll : 

Wild Life of Orchard and Field. 

William J. Long : 

A Little Brother to the Bear. 
Beasts of the Field. 
Ways of Wood Folk. 
Wood Folk at School. 
Secrets of the Woods. 
Wilderness Ways. 

" The Modern School of Nature Study and its 
Critics," North American Review, May, 1903. 

Charles G. D. Roberts : 

The Heart of the Ancient Wood. 
The Kindred of the Wild. 

Ernest Thompson-Seton : 

Wild Animals I Have Known. 
Lives of tlie Hunted. 

Mason A. Walton : 

A Hermit's Wild Friends. 



The Book of Clever Beasts 








}l"\ 






THE BOOK OF 
CLEVER BEASTS 



LITTLE UPSIDAISI 

I SHALL never forget the day I first saw 
him! That, indeed, was a day to be marked 
in my note-book with a red cross, I kept red 
ink and maltese ink in my cabin, to be used 
when things did or did not happen, as the 
case might be. By this simple method I was 
enabled to keep track of the notes suitable for 
the magazines which pay the best, reserving 
the others for the periodicals which reimburse 
their army of contributors at the starvation 
rate of a cent a word, no distinction being 
made between long and short words. It is 
depressing, when you think of it, that a long 
scientific name brings no more than a plain 
Anglo-Saxon word in one syllable, and that 



2 The Book of Clever Beasts 

only a cent apiece is paid for new words coined 
for the occasion and which have never before 
been printed in any book. 

But I digress. It was early in the Spring 
when my physician said to me : " My dear 
Mr. Johnson-Sitdown, you are getting dashed 
dotty." This was a pleasing allusion to my 
employment, for, as the discerning reader has 
long since guessed, I was a telegraph operator 
in a great city, where the click of the instru- 
ment was superadded to the roar of the ele- 
vated trains, the rumble of the surface cars, 
and the nerve-destroying concussions made by 
the breaking of the cable during rush hours 
morning and evening. 

" What you need," said this gifted scientist 
to me, " is absolute rest and quiet. If you do 
not pack up and take to the woods within 
three days from the receipt of this notice, I 
will not answer for the consequences. Your 
brain is slowly but surely giving way. Your 
batteries are becoming exhausted and must 
be renewed if measurable currents are to be 
expected. I recommend new cells, rather than 
recharging from a dynamo. Get busy now, 



Little Upsidaisi 3 

and let me see you no more until September 
first." 

Face to face with my death warrant, as it 
were, I unhesitatingly obeyed. Fortunately, 
my grandmother had left me a small log cabin 
in a clearing, this being her ancestral domicile 
and the only piece of real estate she possessed 
at the time of her long-delayed demise some 
months back. Without waiting to inspect it, 
I hurried to my new home, accompanied only 
by a few books on Natural History — which, 
as I afterward discovered, were by ignorant 
and untrustworthy writers, seeking to prey 
upon the credulity of the uninstructed public, — 
and Tom-Tom, my Cat. 

I had not intended to take Tom-Tom, but 
his fine animal instinct warned him of my im- 
pending departure, and he sat upon my book- 
case and wailed piteously all through my 
packing. My foolish heart has always been 
strangely tender toward the lower animals, 
and I hastened to reassure Tom-Tom. After 
a little, I made him understand that wherever 
I went he should go also, and he frisked 
about my apartment like a wild thing at play, 



4 The Book of Clever Beasts 

waving his tail madly in the exuberance of his 

joy- 

Among the ignorant, the waving of a tail 
by any member of the Cat family is taken to 
mean anger. According to my own observa- 
tions, it may also indicate joy. Darwin has dis- 
tincTuished several canine emotions which are 
distinctively expressed in the bark. Correla- 
tively, I have tabulated eight emotions ex- 
pressed by the caudalis appendagis felinis, 
according to the method of waving it — down, 
up, right, left, twice to the right, once to the 
left, then up, and so on. These discoveries I 
reserve for a future article, as I began to tell 
about Little Upsidaisi. 

When I reached my home in the wilderness, 
it was nearly nightfall. I had only time to 
unpack my books, place them upon a rough 
shelf I hastily constructed, draw out the rude 
table which happened to be in a corner of 
my cabin, and place upon it my observation 
ledger, my pocket note-book, and my red and 
maltese inks. 

Tom-Tom watched my proceedings with 
great interest, and after I had built my camp- 



Little Upsidaisi 5 

fire, just outside the cabin door, we ate our 
frugal meal of bologna, wienerwursts, pretzels, 
and canned salmon, relying upon the cracker- 
box for bread, which Tom-Tom did not seem 
to care for. I was too tired to make either 
bread or coffee, but promised myself both for 
breakfast the following morning. 

Before retiring, I made a pilgrimage to the 
beach and secured nearly a peck of fine sand. 
I scattered this all about my cabin, that in the 
morning I might see what visitors had left 
their cards, so to speak, upon this tell-tale 
medium of communication. 

My first night in the clearing was unevent- 
ful. The unusual quiet kept me awake, and I 
thought that if someone would only pound a 
tin pan under my window, I could soon lose 
consciousness. The Cat purred methodically 
in the hollow of my arm, but even with the 
noise of my Tom-Tom in my ears, it was four 
o'clock, according to my jewelled repeater, 
before I finally got to sleep. 

When I awoke, it was broad day, and after 
dressing hurriedly, I ran out to look at the sand, 
which the Cat had not disturbed, being sound 



6 The Book of Clever Beasts 

asleep still. Poor Tom-Tom ! Perhaps he, 
too, found a cabin in the wilderness an un- 
usual resting place. 

Much to my delight, though hardly to my 
surprise, the sand was covered with a fine 
tracery, almost like lace-work. The prints of 
tiny toes were to be discovered here and there, 
and now and then a broad sweep, evidently 
made by a tail. 

I would have thought it the work of fairies, 
dancing in the moonlight, had I not dedicated 
my life to Science. As it was, I surmised 
almost instantly that it was the Field Mouse — 
the common species, known as rodentia fem- 
inis scariis, and reference to my books proved 
me ricrht. 

By measuring the prints, according to the 
metric system, with delicate instruments I had 
brought for the purpose, I soon discovered 
that these tracks were all made by the same 
individual. The Bertillon method has its 
uses, but unfortunately I was not sufficiently 
up in my calling, as yet, to reconstruct the 
entire animal from a track. I have since done 
it, but 1 could not then. 



Little Upsidaisi 7 

Tom-Tom came out into the sunlight, wav- 
ing his glorious, plumed tail, yawning, and 
loudly demanding food. I called him to me, 
using the old, familiar Cat-call which I have 
always employed with the species, and the 
faithful pet made a great bound toward me. 
Suddenly he stopped, as if caught on a foul 
half-way to the grand stand, and began to sniff 
angrily. His back arched, his tail enlarged, 
and began to wave in a circle. Great agita- 
tion possessed Tom-Tom, and he, too, was 
scrutinising the sand. 

Wondering at his fine instinct, I hastened to 
his side, and, thereupon, my pet unmistakably 
hissed. It required a magnifying-glass and 
some reconstruction of line before I could 
make out what had so disturbed him, but at 
last I discovered that a rude picture of a Cat 
had been drawn in the sand, evidently by a 
tail tipped with malice, immediately in front 
of my cabin door ! 

Truth compels me to state that the hideous 
caricature was not unlike Tom-Tom in its 
essential lines. No wonder he was angry ! 
Before I could get a photograph of the spot. 



8 The Book of Clever Beasts 

however, 7"om-Tom had clawed it out of ex- 
istence. Nothing remained but to soothe his 
ruffled feelings, which I did with a fresh Fish 
newly caught from the lake. 

During the day, I meditated upon my noc- 
turnal visitor. Evidently he had drawn the 
Cat in the sand as a warning to others of his 
kind, as some specimens of the genus ho7iio 
mark gate-posts. That night I made the sand 
smooth before retiring, and in the morning I 
looked anxiously for further messages, but 
there was nothing there. A charm had evi- 
dently been set against my cabin door. 

I began to consider getting rid of Tom- 
Tom, feeling sure that the Mice would know 
it if I did so, but after long study, I concluded 
that it was better to keep my faithful com- 
panion than to wait in loneliness for problem- 
atical visitors. 

The health-giving weeks passed by, and I 
gained in strength each day. When I went 
there, I was so weak that I could not have 
spanked a baby, but I soon felt equal to dis- 
charging a cook. 

Frequently I went far away from the cabin, 



Little Upsidaisi 9 

in the search for food and firewood, leaving 
Tom-Tom at home to keep house. The in- 
telligent animal missed me greatly, but seldom 
offered to go along, his padded feet not being 
suited to the long overland journeys. I made 
him some chamois-skin boots out of some of 
the Natural History Shams I found in print, 
and, for a few times, he gallantly accompanied 
me, but it soon became evident that he pre- 
ferred to stay at home and bear his loneliness, 
rather than to face dangers that he knew 
not of. 

When I returned from my hunting trips 
with a string of Fish, a load of wood, a basket 
of Quail on toast, or some other woodland 
delicacy, Tom-Tom, who was watching from 
the roof of the cabin, would sight me from 
afar off, and after putting on his boots to 
protect his tender feet, would come to meet 
me by leaps and bounds, purring like a loco- 
motive under full steam. Words cannot de- 
scribe my joy at this hospitable greeting, and 
I made up my mind that I would love and 
cherish Tom-Tom, even though I never saw 
a Mouse again. 



lo The Book of Clever Beasts 

However, as we became accustomed to our 
new home, Tom-Tom regained some part of 
his former courage, and at times would wander 
quite a distance from the cabin. His method 
was really very original and deserves record- 
ing, as I have not since found it in any book 
on Natural History. At the time, I marked 
it among my own observations, appropriately 
enough, with a maltese cross. 

With the long, prolonged howl which meant 
farewell, Tom-Tom plunged into the depths 
of the forest, stopping at the first tree to 
sharpen his claws. Suspecting that he was 
in search of game for our Sunday dinner, I 
followed him cautiously at a respectful in- 
terval. Strangely enough, I found that the 
trees leading to the left, for a long way into 
the wood, were scarred with Tom-Tom's claws. 
It was some time before the siofnificance of 
this burst upon me. He was blazing his trail 
through the woods that he might not get lost 
coming home. 

As time went on, these absences became 
more frequent, and once he even stayed out 
all night. In the morning the delicate tracery 



Little Upsidaisi n 

was again seen in the sand around my cabin 
door, only this time there was no picture of 
a Cat. 

While I was engaged with my household 
tasks, I felt myself observed. Turning, I saw 
upon my door-sill a little white-throated Field 
Mouse, sitting upright, and waving a friendly 
paw at me in salutation. It was Little Up- 
sidaisi ! I always called him that, thinking the 
Indian name much more musical than our 
own. 

As soon as he saw me looking at him, he 
hurried away, but the memory of the hunted 
look in his bright eyes haunted me for many 
a day. 

I saw very little of Tom-Tom now. For 
days together he would remain away from 
home, and I was lonely Indeed. Late one 
afternoon, as I returned from my hunting trip, 
I saw a picture of a Cat newly drawn In the 
sand, and after it, very distinctly, was placed 
a large Interrogation point. 

Fully understanding the work of thatwonder- 
ful tail, I took the point of my umbrella and 
printed In large letters, " NO," underlining It 



12 The Book of Clever Beasts 

to make it more emphatic. After that, Upsi- 
daisi came every day, selecting such times as 
the Cat was out. He seemed to feel that he 
had a friend and protector in me. 

Before many weeks had passed, Upsidaisi 
had become more bold. He practically lived 
in the cabin, and took refuge in my sleeve or 
trouser leg upon approach of the Cat. Tom- 
Tom, engrossed with affairs of his own, seemed 
unconscious of his rival's presence, and this 
was well, for Upsidaisi was faithful and Tom- 
Tom was not. 

How well I remember the day when Tom- 
Tom came in suddenly, and saw Upsidaisi sitting 
on the edge of my plate, helping himself daintily 
to fried bacon with a straw from the broom 
neatly slit at one end ! There was a low growl 
from the Cat and a snort of terror from Upsi- 
daisi as he ran down my neck for safety. I 
wore larger collars in those days, that the 
panics of my little friend might not cause a 
stricture in my oesophagus. 

After that, it was war to the knife, as I too 
well understood, and I could only tremble and 
wait for the end. Both of my pets were aflame 



Little Upsidaisi 13 

with jealousy, and there could be but one re- 
sult. The end of a wild animal is always a 
tragedy. 

One day, when Little Upsidaisi was asleep 
in my hat, I followed Tom-Tom's trail into 
the woods, paying close attention to the marks 
upon the trees. Far away, so far away that I 
no longer wondered how the Cat had worn 
out eight separate and distinct boots in as 
many weeks, I came upon a nest at the foot of 
a pine tree, in the hollow formed by the out- 
spreading roots, and lined with the fragrant 
pine needles. 

A large, matronly, black and white Cat sat 
proudly on the nest, brooding over her young. 
She trembled at my approach, but did not 
seek safety in flight. With a few kind words 
I lifted her, and discovered six squalling little 
ones under her. One black, yellow, and white 
egg was not yet hatched, but I could see that 
very soon a little tortoise-shell kitten would 
claim her maternal care. 

So this was the explanation of Tom-Tom's 
defection ! Where he had found his mate, I 
did not know. Close by was a square of red 



14 The Book of Clever Beasts 

blanket, which had been mysteriously cut out 
of my bed covering, and my best tin cup, 
freshly filled with cream, was within the moth- 
er's easy reach. One of Tom-Tom's worn-out 
shoes, at a little distance from the nest, com- 
pleted the evidence. 

I took pains, after this, to scatter desirable 
food and clothing for mother and children 
along Tom-Tom's ghostly trail. The next day 
these were always missing, and Tom-Tom 
seemed grateful in his dumb way, though he 
presumed too far upon my sympathies and 
took to petty larceny. 

For instance, I had a little black box, with 
a hinged cover, upon my table. I kept in it 
pens, postage stamps, and other small imple- 
ments of the writer's craft. One day I found 
my pens neatly piled upon my table and the 
stamps blowing about the cabin. Upon search- 
ing for the box, I found it, carefully placed at 
the foot of a tree, and freshly filled with catnip. 
Upon the cover were scratched these words : 
" Magdalene Tom-Tom, from her devoted Cat- 
band." I inferred from this that the tortoise- 
shell eesf had hatched and that the seven 



Little Upsidaisi 15 

youngsters were all lively. I meditated re- 
claiming my property, but after thinking it 
over, concluded to let the incident pass without 
comment. It might be in celebration of some 
sentimental anniversary, and Tom-Tom's peace 
of mind might be at stake ; but I took the pre- 
caution to lock up everything else which I 
wished to keep. 

Upon the shelf in the cabin was a cigar box 
where Little Upsidaisi slept. ,1 had made a very 
soft nest for him with some returned manu- 
scripts, and endeavoured to keep food and 
drink in one corner of it. Thus, at any hour 
of the day or night, he might be safe from the 
Cat and well provided for. 

After a little, as the trying duties of paternity 
relaxed, Tom-Tom, thin and pale as he was, 
took to spending a part of his evenings at 
home, and I trembled lest his acute senses 
should lead him to the cigar box. It was 
tightly closed, except for the little opening 
gnawed just below the cover, which made sort 
of a slot for Little Upsidaisi's tail and kept it 
from being pinched when he got into the box. 

Still, things went on smoothly, and Tom- 



1 6 The Book of Clever Beasts 

Tom claimed his old place in my affections, 
ignorant of the fact that his rival slept in the 
cigar box above. There was a period of three 
days, once, when Tom-Tom did not leave the 
cabin, and I did not go out either, as I thought 
it safer to remain. There was no telling what 
might happen in my absence. 

At the end of the third day, I sat at my lit- 
tle table, recording various valuable observa- 
tions in my ledger, when suddenly a terrible 
thought struck me. I had forgotten to feed 
Little Upsidaisi ! 

I dared not make any attempt at it while 
Tom-Tom was watching me, and though I tried 
more than once, I could not decoy him out of 
the cabin. I wondered what had become of 
my little pet, and feared to find him stretched 
out stark and stiff upon the returned manu- 
scripts. My heart reproached me bitterly. 

Strangely enough, I was recording in my 
journal at that instant the fact that the Field 
Mice seemed to have no method of commun- 
ication with the outside world, except the pic- 
ture language made with the sharpened tip of 
the tail. While I was considering what to do. 



Little Upsidaisi 17 

and whether or not to use force and tempor- 
arily eject Tom-Tom, a faint, far-away tapping 
assailed my ears, which my anxious mind soon 
traced to the cigar box upon the shelf. 

At the succession of taps, my hair stood up 
in astonishment and I rose to my feet with 
such violence that Tom-Tom was frightened. 
Little Upsidaisi was atte7npti7ig to communicate 
with vie by means of the Mo7'se code / 

I am well aware that this will not be be- 
lieved by the reader, but I can only set down 
my own observations and trust to later ex- 
plorations to substantiate my claims. 

Tap-tap-tap, the ghostly message came, and, 
trembling with excitement though I was, I 
managed to make out the words : 

" What do you take me for ? Do you want 
to starve me to death ? Can't you get rid of 
that blanked Cat ? " Courtesy to my readers 
compels me to use the word " blanked " in 
place of the profane adjective Little Upsidaisi 
applied to Tom-Tom. 

A desperate expedient possessed me. After 
tapping out a few words for Upsidaisi's com- 
fort, I made a low Kitten cry, such as used to 



1 8 The Book of Clever Beasts 

perplex my teacher in my younger days. With 
every sense instantly alert, Tom-Tom erected 
his tail and started off down the trail like a 
blue streak. 

I supplied the exhausted Mouse with food 
and drink, and bade him be patient until the 
following day, using the form of speech which 
he so readily understood. 

Tom-Tom soon returned with the air of a 
fire engine which has just chased up a false 
alarm. He watched me very closely, and the 
following day, as I tapped out a message of 
hope to Upsidaisi, I noted a gleam of intel- 
ligence in Tom-Tom's green eyes. I began 
to wonder, but I had no time to frame a de- 
finite thought, for, with a prolonged meow, 
Tom-Tom scratched on the floor vigorously, 
and my accustomed ears soon made out, 
through the bewildering succession of dots 
and dashes, another message in the Morse 
code. 

" Where is that blamed Mouse ? " it said. 
" My Kittens are about to be weaned and 
require solid food." 

There was a terrible cry of pain from the 



Little Upsidaisi 19 

shelf, and before I could protest or interfere 
in any way, Little Upsidaisi was out of the 
cabin, running like mad, with Tom-Tom in 
full pursuit. 

Instinctively, I followed them — through 
the dense undergrowth, over open fields, 
through barbed wire fences, along unblazed 
forest trails, and so on, with Upsidaisi always 
several leno^ths in the lead. 

Even if I would, I could not interfere, and 
I had long since learned that it is the truest 
kindness to let the animals fight it out among 
themselves, since the fittest must survive and 
the weakest be crushed to the wall. 

Now and then I heard a sob from the grass, 
where the Mouse was rinining in deathly fear, 
and deep, harsh breathings from Tom-Tom, 
who was now gaining his second wind and 
plunging ever closer to his hapless victim. A 
little ahead was the railroad track, which much 
surprised me. I had been so interested that 
I had kept no account of the distance and it 
came to me with something of a shock that 
we had run over ten miles. 

On went the mad strucro-le for life. There 

00 



20 The Book of Clever Beasts 

was a whistle near by, and I knew the express 
was coming. Upsidaisi was nowhere in sight, 
and Tom-Tom was nosing through the long 
grass eagerly. Then there was a little glim- 
mer of white and silver in the sun, and Upsi- 
daisi flew across the track just as the express 
rounded the curve. Tom-Tom followed, heed- 
less of his danger, and the cow-catcher, strik- 
ing his tense body, threw him so far up into 
the air that the corpse has not yet been 
recovered. 

I stood aghast at the fiendish cleverness of 
it. Little Upsidaisi had decoyed his enemy to 
the track, at the very moment the express was 
to pass ! 

Scarcely conscious of what I did, I picked 
up the exhausted Mouse and walked home in 
a brown study. My soul was torn with grief 
at the loss of my pet, but the new facts in 
Natural History that I had learned were 
worth some sacrifice. 

As I sat at my table, writing in my journal, 
I heard a low, mournful sound from the shelf 
and then the words, tapped out in the Morse 
code : " Forgive me ; I had to do it." 




" Jnsiiiictively, I followed them." 



Little Upsidaisi 21 

I foolishly paid no attention, but went on 
writing down the noble ideas that surged hotly 
through my brain. Later on — I shall never 
know how much later — I heard the dull sound 
of a falling body, and the pungent odour of 
cyanide of potassium filled the room. The 
bottle of it which I kept on the shelf to at- 
tract butterflies had been opened and drained 
to the dregs. 

Close by it, with the glaze of death over his 
bright eyes, lay Upsidaisi. Heart-broken by 
my coldness, the little Mouse had committed 
suicide. 

Little feet, little feet, shall I see your deli- 
cate tracery no more around the door of my 
cabin in the wilderness ? The end of a wild 
animal is always a tragedy. 




JAGG, THE SKOOTAWAY GOAT 

After the tragical deaths of Tom-Tom and 
Upsldaisi, my Hfe was strangely lonely. No 
one who has not experienced it can realise the 
subtle, almost spiritual attachment which may 
exist between man and his kindred of the 
wild. The Squirrels barked at each other, 
but there was no bark for me except on the 
oak tree at my cabin door. The little Birds 
sang, but not for me. Whenever I approached 
a thicket where the woodland chorus was in 
rehearsal, trying to learn the Bird-calls which 
are printed in the books, there was a sponta- 
neous silence which seemed to possess a posi- 
tive rather than a negative quality. 

I felt like a marked man. In my fevered 
fancy I could hear the wood creatures saying 
to one another : " There goes the man who 
lived with Little Upsidaisi, By the way, have 
you seen Upsidaisi lately ? What a brute the 



Jagg, the Skootaway Goat 23 

man looks, to be sure ! Come, let us skip, 
while we have the time." 

So it was that I seemed to be the centre 
of an ever-widening circle of departure. Feet 
pattered away from me in a continual diminu- 
endo, dying at last into that mournful, un- 
changing silence which encompassed me like a 
blanket of gloom. 

It is not my intention to depress the reader, 
but the scientific observer must make accurate 
records, and my mental state at the time may 
have been partially responsible for what fol- 
lowed. 

Regularly, I took my walk of fourteen miles 
into town. At first I had contented myself 
with weekly visits to the post-office, but as the 
returned manuscripts augmented, I went every 
morning and took my simple breakfast at a 
restaurant. For some occult reason, I have 
never been able to make coffee even remotely 
resembling that customarily prepared by my 
immediate ancestor on the feminine side. 

The long, business-like envelopes which I 
received every morning contributed largely to 
my local importance, and the gossip of the 



24 The Book of Clever Beasts 

place buzzed eternally about my head. Ac- 
cording to some, I was an insurance agent. 
Others admitted me to the bar without ex- 
amination, and a certain keen observer, well 
up in the guileful ways of commerce, thought I 
had paid two dollars to get my name on some- 
body's "list," thereby being guaranteed "lots 
of mail." 

Fortunately, no hint of my true calling es- 
caped, and the rejection blanks continued to 
accumulate. I have preserved these with the 
idea of incorporating them in a psychological 
treatise on TJie Gentle Art of Turning Down, 
which will be printed as soon as I get a pub- 
lisher for the noble, epoch-making volume 
upon which I am at present engaged. 

I had learned that editors were variable, and 
were not always what they seemed. A rejec- 
tion was merely an indication of the man's 
mood at the time he got my piece, and I have, 
more than once, sold the same thing to him 
later for a goodly sum. I offer no explanation 
of this, as my field is limited to animal, rather 
than human observations, and the Labour 
Union to which I belong is very strict in such 



Jagg, the Skootaway Goat 25 

matters. I may be permitted to add, how- 
ever, that one editor, to whom I sent a mental 
fledghng for the second or third time, wrote me 
a personal letter in which he said that he was 
no more of a fool now than he was three months 
aofo. I do not know what he could have meant 
by the statement, but I record it in the hope 
that someone else may. 

For a long period there had been nothing in 
my note-book but maltese crosses and items 
pertaining to the weather and to my daily tasks. 
One morning it rained so hard that I was 
obliged to postpone my walk to town until 
afternoon. I made the journey in the usual 
time, secured the customary number of re- 
turned manuscripts, and bought stamps to 
send them out again. I thought, as I turned 
away, that the pursuit of literature was little 
more than sending out manuscripts to get 
money to buy stamps to send out manuscripts 
to get money to buy stamps to send out manu- 
scripts to get money to buy stamps to — but I 
forbear. My meditations ran on like this for 
three pages or more, and the end was like the 
beginning, so what 's the use ? 



26 The Book of Clever Beasts 

As I approached the station, I saw several of 
my fellow-townsmen headed for the north-east. 
They had a determined, yet pleasantly excited 
air which interested me, and I went back to 
make inquiries of the postmaster. 

" Where are they going ? " I asked. 

"Hey?" 

" I asked where they were going." 

"Who?" 

I inclined my head toward the company on 
the far horizon. I could not incline it much, 
for it was heavy, being full of books. 

" Oh," said the postmaster. " Them. Over 
to Porcupine Hill." 

"Porcupine Hill!" I repeated in astonish- 
ment. " Where is it ? " 

" Follow your nose," he replied, somewhat 
brusquely, slamming down the window in a way 
which indicated that the interview was ended. 

My pulses throbbed with new joy, for here, 
at last, was a diversion. I lost no time in fol- 
lowing my nose, first taking the precaution to 
point that useful organ in a bee-line with the 
disappearing company. Ultimately I joined 
them, to their surprise if not their pleasure. 



Jagg, the Skootavvay Goat 27 

"We 're late," said one of them. "The 
show 's just beginning." 

I quickened my steps to a run, and was 
presently brought up with a round turn against 
a rope stretched across the foot of the hill. 
Several strange-looking balls were rolling from 
the crest toward us, and a man with a note- 
book was registering bets, all of which, how- 
ever, were in small coin. 

"What is it?" I inquired in a loud, clear 
voice which commanded instant attention. 

" Porcupines," answered a courteous gentle- 
man in blue overalls, a hickory shirt, and one 
suspender. " Every afternoon at two, when it 
ain't raining, they roll down that there hill." 

" You be n't a detective, be you ? " asked an 
agitated voice at my elbow. It was the post- 
master. 

" I am not," I returned, with freezing dig- 
nity. 

" All right," continued the postmaster. 
" Here, bookie, ten to one on Salina Ann. 
Salina 's a high roller," he explained, turning 
to me, " but she ain't in this race." 

The Porcupines came in at our feet, a huge 



28 The Book of Clever Beasts 

dark one rolling under the wire three lengths 
ahead. Dizzy, exhausted, and panting, he sat 
up straight for a moment, launched a playful 
quill at the bookmaker, and shambled off 
around the hillside. 

Upon the crest of a distant hill, a single 
figure sat in monumental silence. It had two 
points at the top, and I wondered what it 
might be. At last I concluded that it was a 
rock. 

Throughout the long, sunny afternoon, I 
watched the interesting pastime with keen en- 
joyment. Had not my exchequer been so 
pitifully low, I should have staked a dime or 
so myself upon Salina Ann. She won three 
races in succession and finally retired, giddy, 
but triumphant. 

When the last race was over, as much as 
four dollars had changed hands, and there 
were loud protests against the system of book- 
making employed. As an outsider, I was 
appealed to, but I declined to interfere, and, 
rememberinor the lonof fourteen-mile walk which 
lay between me and my cabin, I loosened up 
for the home stretch, noting, as I started, that 



Jagg, the Skootaway Goat 29 

the pecuHar, pointed rock had disappeared 
from the opposite hill. 

During the ninth mile from the Porcupine 
track, I was acutely conscious of observation. 
Little Brothers of the Woods can always feel 
the bright eyes that are turned upon them 
from the thickets. I paused several times, but 
heard nothing and saw nothing, though I put 
on my glasses and thus gained a sort of second 
sight. 

Afterward, I meditated. Perhaps the ban 
upon me had been removed and the forest folk 
no longer feared to look at me. I made one 
maltese cross in my note-book, drawing a red 
circle about it to indicate possibilities, and 
entered a full account of the Porcupine race, 
which so far, according to my knowledge, has 
been described by only one other writer. 

My sleep was more nearly normal that night 
than it had been since the lamentable occur- 
rences chronicled in the previous chapter. 

For a time, my life was as usual. I arose 
in the morning, just before sunrise, and took a 
cold bath in the lake. Then I built a fire and 
made coffee. I had postponed my trips to 



30 The Book of Clever Beasts 

town until afternoon in order to attend the 
Porcupine races, and this condemned me to 
drink my own coffee, but many sacrifices must 
be made by the earnest student. I would 
wash the dishes, swishing them back and forth 
in the lake, sweep and dust the cabin, and, by 
nine o'clock, be ready to devote myself to 
literature. 

I worked until twelve, when I prepared 
luncheon, cleared up again, cut wood if I 
needed it, and started for town. I had timed 
myself and learned that it took me just forty 
minutes to walk the fourteen miles, I thus 
had ample time to go to the post-office, and 
usually reached Porcupine Hill a few minutes 
before the entertainment bea;an. 

It must have been two weeks later that, in 
the same section of the homeward trail, I again 
felt myself keenly observed. It was disquiet- 
ing, more especially as I beat about among 
the bushes for a long time without finding any- 
thing. I meditated that night in two separate 
meditations of one hour each, but came to no 
conclusions. 

By the pitiless light of high noon and the 



Jagg, the Skootaway Goat 31 

baldly truthful report of my grandmother's 
cracked mirror, opportunely left in the cabin, 
I discovered that I was moulting at the top, 
and cast about for some means to remedy the 
condition, not caring to be a front row ob- 
server at the noble drama of Unnatural History. 
While in town that day, I purchased a small 
flask of whiskey, as I had seen in the beauty 
columns, more than once, that it was a good 
hair tonic, but I did not know whether to 
apply it internally or externally. 

I attended the Porcupine race that after- 
noon, and lost forty-three cents on Salina 
Ann, who flunked miserably every time. Much 
depressed, I started homeward, just at sunset, 
and, in a quiet place, I attempted to improve 
my spirits by taking a teaspoonful of the hair 
tonic. I learned immediately that the remedy 
was not meant to be used internally, and I did 
not doubt that external application would pro- 
duce a crop of tresses which might well be 
the envy of a professional musician. 

A little nearer my cabin than before, I was 
once more conscious of the fact that I was 
not alone. Somewhat excited, I crept into 



32 The Book of Clever Beasts 

the thicket and swung my knapsack about 
violently. I distinctly detected a strange 
odour, which was like nothing else on earth, 
but otherwise all was as usual except for an 
inexplicable breeze blowing directly against 
the wind. 

Fancy an Indian blanket, of Angora wool, 
which has been used by three tribes indis- 
criminately, year in and year out, in sickness 
and in health, hanging on a clothes line with 
a hio^h wind blowinof. Let the wind be blow- 
ing from the east and the scientific observer 
be standing just west of the blanket. It will 
give you a faint idea of what I met in the 
thicket, though at the time I wrongly at- 
tributed it to the misapplication of the hair 
tonic. 

On reaching my cabin I discovered that the 
flask had dropped out of my knapsack when I 
swung it through the undergrowth, but, rather 
than go back, I determined to spend another 
fifty cents the next day, provided that I could 
do so without drawing upon myself unjust 
suspicion. 

The next day — ah, with what emotion I 



Jagg, the Skootaway Goat 33 

write those words ! How httle do we dream, 
as we close our eyes in peaceful slumber, what 
the next day may bring forth! Careless, 
happy, even whistling as was my wont, I per- 
formed my simple household tasks, rejoicing 
in the fragrant morning air, the cheery chatter 
of the Squirrels, and the progress of the pan 
of bread I was baking over my open fire. 

From the woods at the left came a brisk 
breeze. Someone seemed to be airing a 
blanket such as I have described above. Be- 
fore I had time to investigate, a huge white 
ball rolled toward me, with no visible means 
of propulsion. There was no incline and the 
speed of it was tremendous. Deep, pointed 
excavations marked the trail over which it 
came, and my hair was raised far beyond the 
potential power of the lost tonic. So swiftly 
that I was breathless with wonder, the thing 
rolled into my fire. 

Then there was a shrill cry of pain, but the 
momentum was too great, and it went straight 
on through, stopping on the other side of my 
woodland hearthstone, singed, and apparently 
dead. Trembling with excitement, I made 



34 The Book of Clever Beasts 

my way toward it, but before I could offer 
my sympathetic assistance, it had assorted 
itself and was standing up on four singed and 
shaky legs. 

It was Jagg. 

How a Goat had penetrated that fastness, 
where the hands of few white men had ever 
trod, was beyond me, but it was a condition 
and not a theory which confronted me. Here, 
at my hospitable door, so lately made desolate 
by the departure of Tom-Tom and Little 
Upsidaisi, was a new and wonderful creature. 
The singeing had overpowered the Indian 
blanket motif and made way for the softer 
notes of the hair tonic. Jagg was plainly 
intoxicated, and immediately upon my recog- 
nition of it, I named him. 

His suffering was pathetic. The burns were 
merely superficial, but he was very much 
soiled, and his head was swollen far beyond its 
normal limits. His tongue, which he promptly 
offered for my inspection, was dark brown and 
fuzzy. He sat down, stroked his brow wearily 
with one of his four feet (fore, if you prefer), 
and stuttered out an hysterical bleat. 



Jagg, the Skootaway Goat 35 

My friends in the telegraph office used to 
characterise me occasionally as a Goat, and I 
am not prepared to admit that there is not 
something in the theory of reincarnation, for 
at that moment a great pity dominated me. 

"Jagg, old man," I said, tenderly, "you 

have misjudged your capacity and you are full. 

CI) 
ome. 

He followed me into the cabin, eager, yet 
shamefaced, and I lifted him to my bed. I 
anointed his burns with carron oil and tied a 
cold wet bandage over his temples. He was 
only an ordinary Goat, with the customary 
tuft of spinach in the maxillary region, now 
badly singed, but there was something very 
human in the grateful look he gave me just 
before closing his eyes for twenty-one hours of 
sodden sleep. 

I rolled up in an extra blanket that night 
and slept on the floor of the cabin, rather than 
disturb Jagg. We might have slept together 
without violating any of the precepts of The 
Ladies Own, for, even in high circles, people 
often sleep with Kids, but my natural instincts 
were against it and I let Jagg have the bed. 



o 



6 The Book of Clever Beasts 



In the morning, I closely scrutinised the 
ground over which my butter-ball had come. 
At regular intervals were the deep, pointed 
excavations before referred to, and I surmised 
that they had been made by his horns. I n them 
I appropriately planted goatsrue. My grand- 
mother had left some seeds of this herb on the 
shelf in the cabin, and I had been intending to 
plant them for some time. 

I followed the trail into the woods until I 
came to the thicket where I had felt myself 
observed. The empty flask lay on the ground 
and corroborated my suspicions. The branches 
were broken down all through the shrubbery, 
and the bare earth was thick with tiny hoof- 
marks in prints of two and three which were 
strangely suggestive of a waltz. 

When I went back. Jagg came out of the 
cabin, very pale and repentant, blinking sleep- 
ily and wagging his insignificant tail. I spoke 
a few kind words to him and we breakfasted 
together. 

In less than a week he had recovered his 
spirits, and his devotion to me was really ex- 
traordinary. He followed me like an unpaid 




" There was something very human in the grateful look he gave me just 
before closing his eyes." 



Jagg, the Skootaway Goat zi 

bill and never took his eyes away from me ex- 
cept to sleep. At night he lay like a dog in 
my cabin door, whither he had dragged his 
bed, and usually waked me by prodding me 
playfully, in some sensitive spot, with the 
sharp tip of one of his horns. 

There was something mysterious in his eyes. 
They were fairly human in their expressive- 
ness, and his intelligence was also of that high 
order which Man proudly claims as his own. I 
discovered it accidentally. 

Most hermits, I find, are wont to relieve 
their solitude by declaiming poetry, and I 
was no exception to the rule. I knew all 
of Thanatopsis and most of The Ancient 
Mariner. When I recited these. Jagg al- 
ways listened with an air of polite interest. 
One morning, however, as I built my fire, I 
chanced to repeat Cowper's beautiful lines 
beginning : " O for a lodge in some vast 
wilderness ! " 

Immediately my attention was attracted by 
Jagg. He tore about madly, giving every 
evidence of joy, bleating loudly, and furiously 
wagging his stub of a tail. He stood on his 



38 The Book of Clever Beasts 

head, rising at once to the perpendicular, then 
as swiftly reversed. Something happened then 
which I could not explain, and I rubbed my 
eyes in wonder. A moment before he had 
been there and now he was nowhere in sight. 
I never learned how he did it, for he moved 
too rapidly for the eye to follow, but, accord- 
ing to my theory, he put his four feet together 
and with a single powerful muscular effort 
shot himself into space, alighting perhaps a 
quarter of a mile distant, and returning when 
he pleased. This gave him his sub-title in my 
records : " The Skootaway Goat." 

At first I was overjoyed to have the faithful 
animal with me, but, by insensible degrees, 
his companionship began to pall. He went 
with me once to the Porcupine race, but 
speedily made both of us unpopular. Again, 
I locked him into the cabin, but no sooner 
had I returned than I regretted it. He ate 
one of my note-books and thereby many 
priceless observations are lost to the world. 

I bought a rope and tied him to a tree, but 
he joined me at Porcupine Hill with evident 
satisfaction at the reunion. I got a long chain 



Jagg, the Skootaway Goat 39 

from the village and this foiled him only once. 
He filed it apart with tooth and horn and 
acquired so insatiable an appetite for cold 
metal that he even hunted my pockets at 
night for coins. Canned goods were eaten, 
tin and all, as soon as I brought them home. 
I began to perceive, dimly, that I must part 
with Jagg, and ultimately regarded the notion 
as a relief measure passed by an overwhelm- 
ing majority. 

Yet ways and means were lacking, and also, 
possibly, the initiative. He had grown into a 
very handsome animal by this time, and I was 
so accustomed to him that the woods had an 
unfriendly, alien smell when I fared forth 
alone. I had given up the thought of tying 
him, and he usually went with me, quite as 
a matter of course. 

At the post-office one morning, I received a 
letter from my lawyers, stating that I had 
fallen heir to another ancestral estate about 
one hundred miles south of my present habita- 
tion. My grandfather on my mother's side 
had just been reaped, and this testimonial of 
his affection was left to me. I folded the 



40 The Book of Clever Beasts 

letter idly and stood for some moments, lost 
in deep thought. Jagg snatched it out of 
my hand and ate it, but not before I had 
made myself master of its contents. Later 
on, I was thankful for the ponderous verbiage 
with which the idea was practically swamped, 
though, as it happened, the obscurity was use- 
less, the legal description of the property 
being appended. 

Jagg ruminated for some time upon the 
letter, but experienced no personal discomfort. 
He was very intelligent and doubtless be- 
lieved, with the great Macaulay, that " a page 
digested is better than a book hurriedly 
read." 

Still we lived together — that is. Jagg lived, 
and I existed. The sight of him, through 
constant attrition, became an annoyance, and 
finally an irritation. He ate my clothes, tore 
all the love scenes out of my small but choice 
library of fiction, and took my article on 
Natural History Shams to ornament the head 
of his bed. 

Before long I discovered an infallible method 
of communicating with him. I would write 



Jagg, the Skootaway Goat 41 

my remarks on a small slip of paper, in my 
fine Italian hand, and feed the paper to Jagg. 
As soon as it was assimilated into his system, 
he understood, but his answers were limited. 
He could shake his head when he meant 
"no" and nod when he meant "yes." A 
bleat, of indescribable tonality, meant that he 
was unfamiliar with the topic, or else pre- 
vented by his personal handicap from making 
any sort of an explanation. 

For instance, one fine morning, just at sun- 
rise, I wrote : "Jagg, I am going to the vil- 
lage this afternoon. Will you be a nice Goatie 
and stay at home ? " 

At nine o'clock, he grasped my meaning. 
Coming close to my knee he looked up into 
my face with an expression of adoring love, 
and sadly but firmly shook his head. I never 
knew him to lie, and at noon, when I started, 
Jagg rioted along beside me. 

In town, by this time, they had decided that 
I was an editor on my Summer vacation, and 
they used to call us " The Two Bocks." For 
some reason, this irritated me to such an eji- 
tent that I was ready to lay out Jagg on his 



42 The Book of Clever Beasts 

last bier, but I forebore to pull the trigger 
through a lingering belief in re-incarnation. 
Suppose Jagg were my grandmother, or some 
other distinguished ancestor ? Moreover, I 
knew, through the subtle workings of some sixth 
sense, that I could not lose him before his time. 

It happened that the county authorities 
stopped the Porcupine races by building bar- 
riers of chicken-coop netting here and there 
across the hill, and the inhabitants of the vil- 
lage, to a man, blamed me for it. I pro- 
tested my innocence, but I was an outsider 
and my efforts were futile. The gambling 
laws are rightfully stringent, but Lambs gam- 
bol, so why not Porcupines ? 

" T ain't no use o' lyin' about it," said the 
postmaster, shifting his quid, "you 've had it 
in fer us ever since Salina Ann lost you that 
there forty-three cents. It was a day for the 
mud-larks and was heavy goin', and you should 
have known better than to bet on her, but you 
seemed to have a hunch. It 's a gent's sport, 
partook of by gents, and you 'd orter be able 
to take defeat like a gent, or else," he added, 
with bitter emphasis, " git ! " 



Jagg, the Skootaway Goat 43 

Two days later, a boycott was proclaimed 
against me. I could buy nothing in the village 
except postage stamps, and I must either move 
or starve. 

My heart was heavy, then I thought of my 
new possessions and the cloud lifted. My 
medical adviser had chased me out of town 
until September first, so I still had a month to 
live outdoors. I would go, I decided — and I 
would lose Jagg. I did not doubt his ability 
to get his living — he had got mine, whenever 
1 had brought canned goods home. 

I wrote out one morning : " Jagg, I am going 
to clean house," and fed him the slip. An 
hour or so later he came to me and nodded in- 
telligently, but I could see the lingering sadness 
upon his visage and, for the first time, it struck 
me that Jagg might once have been married. 

Under this safe disguise, I packed my things 
and swept out the cabin with a broom and a 
pail of water. Jagg watched me intently, and 
I saw that I would have to deceive him if I 
escaped. I pondered long after I had resolved 
myself into a committee of ways and means, 
but my bright ideas were all packed away with 



44 The Book of Clever Beasts 

moth balls on the high shelf of my mind until 
such time as I could get to my typewriter and 
begin anew the bombardment of the magazines. 

That night we sat in darkness, for Jagg had 
made a light luncheon of the only remaining 
candle, but I was patient and bided my time, 
knowing that on the morrow I would give him 
the last slip. 

In the morninor I beg^an to scrub the cabin 
vigorously. When I went after another cake 
of soap, I saw that there was nothing left but 
a piece of the wrapper about the size of a curl 
paper, and, since I have the usual masculine 
aversion to curl papers and wrappers, I gave 
an exclamation of horror. 

Jagg's guilty face betrayed him, and I hast- 
ened to my table. "If you ate that soap," I 
wrote, " you will have to stay here while I go 
to town for more. If you ate it, nod, and if 
you are willing to stay, nod. It will be better 
for you if you decide to stay." These last 
words I underlined with red ink to give them 
a sinister significance. 

After assimilation, Jagg came to me and 
nodded twice. He was evidently sincere in 



Jagg, the Skootaway Goat 45 

his repentance, so I took my suit case, and my 
note-books, and set out for the station with a 
Hght heart. He sat in the door of the cabin, 
watching me wistfully, and the old, familiar, 
Indian-blanket odour sensibly decreased as I 
progressed. 

When I boarded the train, he was nowhere 
in sight, and my pulses throbbed with exulta- 
tion. Freedom at last, after weeks of Jagg ! 
It was too good to believe. 

I found my new cabin occupied by a morose, 
hickory-shirted individual christened " Aba- 
diah," but known simply as " Ab." He refused 
to believe that I was the rightful owner of the 
place, and I had no way of proving it, as my 
evidence had been eaten. He said he 'd just 
" squat " round there until he saw a written 
order to move out, and I made the best of a 
bad bargain. There were two cots in the 
cabin, so I did not mind particularly, and it was 
not altogether unpleasant to have someone of 
my own species with me after my long isolation. 

Weary, but foolishly light-hearted, I went to 
sleep. When I awoke, I had the same old un- 
easy feeling of being watched, and, rubbing 



46 The Book of Clever Beasts 

my eyes, I saw, sitting on the foot of my cot — 
who should it be but Jagg, chewing the cud of 
reflection ? 

An old silk hat was wedged tightly over his 
horns, there was a baleful gleam of mockery 
in his singularly human eyes, and around his 
neck was tied an ordinary express tag, which 
was inscribed, simply : " Please pass the 
Butter." Where he had obtained it, I do not 
know, but he had evidently taken the next train. 

When Ab woke up, he viewed the new 
arrival with disfavour, which was promptly 
reciprocated by said arrival. 

" Likely lookin' animile," grunted Ab. 
" Whose is it ? " 

" It seems to be ours," I answered, with a 
hollow laugh. 

" Smells like thunder, don't it? " asked Ab. 

Jagg bleated five times in rapid succession 
and plunged out into the fresh air, then turned 
toward the spring where we got our drinking 
water and took off the brakes. Before any 
one could prevent him, he had taken a bath 
in the spring and emerged dripping wet, with 
his hat still on. 



Jagg,* the Skootaway Goat 47 

Ab's disofust knew no bounds. " Bilin' the 
water won't help it none now," he said, 
" Reckon we '11 have to drink bug juice." He 
drew a flask from his pocket and took a long 
draught, smacking his lips with evident en- 
joyment. 

Here Jagg did his Skootaway stunt, and Ab 
blinked. There was not even a glimmer of 
white in the air — one merely had the im- 
pression that something had gone by. 

"Say, pardner," said Ab, brokenly, "tell 
me the truth. Have I got 'em, or was there 
a Goat with a plug hat on settin' here a minute 
ago?" 

" The Goat and the hat were both here," 
I assured him, and he sighed in relief. " I 
suppose," he continued, meditatively, " that 
we both orter take the pledge." 

Jagg returned in time for breakfast and sat 
opposite us. The dislike between him and 
Ab speedily ripened into hate, and I could 
see that a catastrophe was due before long, 
but I made no allusion to it. 

" What be you goin' to call the beast ? " 
asked Ab. 



48 The Book of Clever Beasts 

" Have n't thought about it," I returned, 
shortly. 

" I suppose he would n't need to be called," 
remarked Ab. "He seems to be here most 
of the time." 

I smiled as pleasantly as could be expected 
under the circumstances, and Ab went on with 
his part of the sketch. " Too bad he ain't a 
Sheep." 

*' Why ? " I asked, seeing that he was wait- 
ing for the question. 

" Had a fool friend once," observed Ab, 
" with one of them high-toned stock farms. 
He had one cussed old Sheep of some fancy 
breed that he paid five thousand dollars for. 
The boys used to call him Hi-ram." 

I made no answer, being busy with the 
dishes, and Ab retreated into the shrubbery. 
" Say," he yelled, from a respectful distance, 
" be you English ? " 

My blood burned to be at him, but I did not 
wish to quarrel with the only human being for 
miles around, nor to lower myself to the level 
of my kindred of the wild, who fight it out with 
claw and tooth and fang. Jagg, who was sit- 



Jagg, the Skootaway Goat 49 

ting near me, snorted loudly with anger and 
the hair on the back of his neck bristled. 

He came to me, and by repeated significant 
gestures made me understand that he wished me 
to remove his hat. I did so, but with difficulty. 

When Ab appeared at dinner time, Jagg 
took no apparent notice of him. The kettle 
was singing cheerily and the delicious scent 
of the frying bacon was abroad in the land- 
scape. " Ab," 1 called, "get some more sticks 
and put them on the fire." 

He bent over the cheerful flame and re- 
plenished the blaze with an armful of chips 
which he had found in the woods. Jagg was 
not a part of the domestic scene and I did not 
know where he was, but I heard a loud im- 
precation, saw Ab careening madly in midair, 
and fancied that I saw a glimmer of white just 
over the shrubbery. 

My quick, active mind at once inferred that 
I should have to add Ab's biography to my 
great work : The Lives of the Btmted. 

Nothing was said, and on the surface, at 
least, all things were as usual, but I saw the 
red gleam of implacable hate in the faces of 



50 The Book of Clever Beasts 

my two companions, and dreaded the deadly 
combat which must soon take place. 

For a week or more there was comparative 
peace, then, one morning when I opened my 
cabin door to admit the fresh air of dawn, I 
saw a pathetic sight. On my threshold, faith- 
ful to the last, was Jagg, stark and stiff and 
cold in death. 

He lay flat on his back, his eyes wide open, 
and his feet were at right angles to his body. 
The rigor mortis had already set in to such 
an extent that I felt as if I had struck a picket 
fence when I endeavoured to pass. It was 
characteristic of him, perhaps, that he could 
not even die without arranging some kind of 
a trap for me to fall into. I was obliged to 
move him before I could get outdoors, and the 
undertaking proved unusually difficult. 

I gave him a decent burial, and painted him 
a headstone, but I never saw Ab again. The 
Goat's body was bloated in a way which led 
me to suspect poison, and, as time goes on, my 
suspicion becomes stronger, for the end of a 
wild animal is always a tragedy, and Jagg was 
unquestionably wild. 



SNOOF 

I PASSED the remaining weeks of my exile in 
hermit-like solitude. I was not disposed to 
make further studies in my chosen calling, and 
time hung heavily upon my hands. I checked 
off the days upon my calendar with red ink, so 
that I should not become confused and miss 
the date of my departure. Having been 
shipped out of town until September first, to 
save my life, I did not intend to sacrifice it by 
returning on August thirty-first. " Whatever 
is worth doing at all is worth doing well," — 
a trite copy-book maxim, that, but none the 
less a true one. 

The English language, vast as it is, can con- 
vey no adequate idea of my longing for civil- 
isation. The rush and roar of city life, the 
loud-voiced clangour of commerce, and the fine, 
inspiring click of my telegraph instrument 
would have been music to me. I packed up, 
ready to start at one minute after twelve on 

51 



52 The Book of Clever Beasts 

the night of my release. Happily, there was 
a train at a quarter past one, and I could get 
to town in time for breakfast. 

From the time of my packing until I set off 
on the long trail, at one minute after twelve, 
by my jewelled repeater, I experienced the dis- 
comfort of those who have moved mentally, 
but are still clamped, physically, to the places 
they have moved from. 

My stern fidelity to truth compels me to 
record the fact that my arrival in the city 
was not as pleasing as I had fancied it would 
be. The noise was terrible, and before eat- 
ing my simple breakfast at a quick-lunch coun- 
ter, I was obliged to stuff cotton into my 
ears. This did not prevent me from hearing 
the candid comments made upon my personal 
appearance by the pretty waitresses. 

" Uncle Rube, from Hayville," observed a 
dashing blonde to her giggling companion. 
" Pipe the alfalfa on the jay's mug," said an- 
other. At this there were hissing murmurs 
of : " Sh-h ! He '11 hear you ! " " Naw," said 
the speaker, "he's deef. He's calked his 
listeners with white fur. Bet his wife had a 



Snoof 53 

hand in it. She don't want him to bring home 
no gold bricks in his carpet-bag." 

The talk had risen to such a crescendo pitch 
that passers-by were fain to take an interest in 
it, and it seemed to me that it was time to 
interfere. 

"Young ladies," I said, clearing my throat, 
" I have neither wife nor carpet-bag. I have 
calked my listeners, as you concisely put it, to 
keep the chatter of green parrots from inter- 
fering with my noteworthy meditations. I 
am a Scientist — an unchristian Scientist, I may 
add, and I shall take pleasure in sending a 
copy of The Ladies Own to this restaurant 
for the guidance of the help. Read it care- 
fully, study it, ponder over its noble precepts, 
and it will enable you to win the respect of 
your employer and his customers." 

In the midst of a profound silence I walked 
out, discovering two blocks farther on that I 
still held the green check calling for fifteen 
cents. I bought two copies of TJie Ladies 
Own and sent a boy back with them, thus 
more than repaying my indebtedness. 

I determined to report at my physician's 



54 The Book of Clever Beasts 

office before returning to my apartments. In 
the reception-room of his suite, I first caught a 
gHmpse of myself in a mirror, and was com- 
pelled to admit that I looked seedy. My hair, 
which had not been cut for over three months, 
hung down over my collar in the manner of 
Buffalo Bill's, and I had a thirteen weeks' 
growth of undisciplined beard upon my erst- 
while smooth countenance. My linen, also, 
was questionable. 

Finally, I was admitted, and my medical 
adviser gasped out something which sounded 
like "gosh," but which doubtless was not, 
since he is a perfect gentleman. 

" Dear friend," I cried, advancing with out- 
stretched hands, " I have come to thank you 
for my life ! " 

" Don't mention it," he returned, modestly. 
" I assure you, it is nothing worth speaking 
of." 

" When I left you," I continued, " I was a 
physical wreck. Behold me now ! I have 
lived next to the ground and studied the ways 
of those wonderful creatures whom, in our ar- 
rogant self-esteem, we call the lower animals. 



Snoof 55 

I have had for my friends all the wood folk — 
Upsidaisi, the Field Mouse, Unk Munk, the 
Porcupine, Ka-Ka, the Pole-Cat, Tom-Tom, 
the felinis simpatiais, Kitchi-Kitchi, the Red 
Squirrel, Hoop-La, Sing-Sing, Pitti-Bird, 
Chee-Wee " 

Here my medical adviser interrupted me. 
"Mr. Johnson-Sitdown," he said, wearily, "as 
this is my busy day, it will be a kindness if you 
will put the remainder of that into a phono- 
graph and have it sent. The collection of 
Chinese laundry checks is doubtless interest- 
ing and valuable, but I am obliged to special- 
ise in my own line. Permit me to give you 
another prescription." 

He rose from his chair, handed me a bit of 
folded paper, and opened the door. My Sum- 
mer in the wilderness had so sharpened my 
naturally acute senses, that I instantly perceived 
my friend's wish to be alone, and accordingly, 
with rare tact, I bowed myself out. How I 
pitied the man who could not be a hermit 
except between patients ! Nevertheless, one 
must have patience before one can be a hermit. 

At the first drug store I handed in the 



56 The Book of Clever Beasts 

prescription, and the clerk returned presently 
with the remark that they did not keep it. I 
asked him where I could find it, and he sug- 
gested a barber-shop. 

Outside, I opened the prescription. It read 
as follows : 

" I bath, repeat twice daily, 

3 shaves, 

8 hair cuts. 

New clothes." 
I spent the rest of the day and all the money 
I had left in explicitly following out the direc- 
tions of my gifted friend. In the morning I 
was back at my desk. 

Throughout the Winter I spent my evenings 
studying Natural History and writing out my 
own experiences for the magazines. A boom 
was on in this kind of literature and the supply 
was not at all equal to the demand, so, in place 
of the returned manuscripts, I speedily acquired 
some sort of a vogue. Doubtless the reader 
will remember that I had some pieces, care- 
fully edited, in The Ladies Own and The 
Girlies Close Companion. Meanwhile my in- 
come was pleasurably increased, and I shortly 



Snoof 57 

became so independent that I wholly ignored 
those miserable sheets which pay " on publica- 
tion " and publish when they like. I planned 
to quit work entirely during the warm months, 
and this choice morsel of news was noised 
about among the literary editors. In more 
than one paper I read that " Mr. O. Sitdown- 
Johnson Johnson-Sitdown, the well-known nat- 
uralist, will spend the Summer in Yellowstone 
Park, studying the animals of that region." 
Before I left town, I had contracted for the 
publication of all the work I could do — and 
more, too, as it afterward proved. 

That was a great year for Bears, and all 
through the West they were unusually abun- 
dant. Cattle and sheep were killed on the 
range, chicken coops rifled, and provisions 
stolen from the lumber camps. In fact, the 
nuisance became so great that a bounty was 
put upon Bear pelts in more than one State 
and every trail was practically barricaded with 
traps. 

Indians coming in reported that the woods 
were vocal with low, mournful sounds which, 
in every case, originated at the Bear traps. 



58 The Book of Clever Beasts 

When a Bear was caught in a deadfall, his 
mate, or her mate, as the case might be, 
would sit by, holding the poor head in ten- 
der arms, and rock back and forth, moaning, 
until the men came to remove the body. 
Considerations of safety alone would put 
the bereaved mate to flight. This is the law 
of the wilderness — self-preservation first, the 
old, primeval instinct, supported by claw and 
tooth and fang and the swift pace down the 
trail. 

Other observers have found two instances 
only of a Bear sitting by the trap, holding its 
dead mate in its arms, and moaning. Whether 
I was more fortunate or more observing, it is 
not for me to say, but that year, and in that 
locality, the woods were full of it. 

Naturally, with all this material at my dis- 
posal, I made up my mind to study Bears 
first. I had not been in the Geyser House 
three minutes before I was out in the kitchen, 
making earnest inquiries of the cook and scul- 
lery maids. I learned, to my delight, that 
Bears came to the back door every day, and 
that by sitting on the step, I might see them. 



Snoof 59 

One of the scullery maids suggested to me 
that I peel the potatoes as I sat there. It 
seemed that the odour of this succulent root 
was very attractive to Bears, and, in fact, they 
never came to the back door except when 
potatoes were being peeled. 

There were few guests at the Geyser House, 
as it was comparatively early in the season, 
but I studied the register carefully. Upon 
it, in an angular hand, I noted the names of 
" Mrs. Miranda Kirsten," and " Miss Miranda 
Kirsten." For some reason, these names 
moved me profoundly, and I was still thinking 
of them when I fell asleep. 

In the morning, when I went down to break- 
fast, a lady and a child were seated at my 
table. At once, I knew who they were. The 
mother ignored me, but the little girl's eyes 
were fastened upon me with tender interest. 
While she was engaged in contemplating me, 
she choked on her near-food, and doubtless 
would have strangled had I not with swift pre- 
sence of mind gone to the rescue. I grasped 
the child, reversed her, and swung her back 
and forth by the heels until the section of 



6o The Book of Clever Beasts 

straw mattress which she had vainly attempted 
to swallow was dislodcjed from the main line 
of her bronchial system. 

" Dear sir, kind sir," said the mother, with 
tears in her eyes, as I put the thoroughly 
frightened child into her outstretched arms, 
" how shall I ever thank you for preserving 
my daughter's life ! " 

" Do not mention it," I replied, in the 
happy and appropriate words of my medical 
adviser ; " I assure you, it is nothing worth 
speaking of." 

" Sir-r-r-r ! " exclaimed the mother, in a freez- 
ing tone. 

" I mean, dear Mrs. Kirsten," I went on, 
in my best manner, '* that I am accustomed 
to it. From Maine to San Francisco, every 
Summer, it has been my good fortune to save 
the lives of unnumbered children who have 
choked upon near- food." 

Here the little Miranda slipped out of her 
mother's arms and came to me. " Pitty man," 
she said, placing her hand upon mine with 
tender confidence. " Baby loves 'oo." 

That settled it. I was at once restored to 



Snoof 6i 

the mother's good graces, and we chatted 
pleasantly all through breakfast. 

Immediately afterward, with my camera and 
my note-books, I went out to see Bears. I felt, 
rather than heard the animals, for, as every 
observer knows, the soft, padded feet of a 
Bear make no noise whatever upon the 
trail. 

I walked along as carefully as possible, but 
saw nothing to photograph until the path 
turned. There, sitting up on her haunches, 
not twenty paces from me, was a large black 
Bear! 

Her Cub, also upon his haur^nes, was about 
a yard and three-eighths behind her, and I 
realised that my situation was serious. I had 
no weapon — the authorities do not allow 
weapons of any description to be carried in 
the Park, except the pen, which is mightier 
than the sword, but no use to anybody in an 
emergency like mine unless it is a Bear pen. 
If I turned and ran, she would doubtless fol- 
low me and overtake me long before I reached 
the hotel. In fact, I was sure that I never 
should reach it, if the Bear followed me. 



62 The Book of Clever Beasts 

There was nothing left for me to do but to 
try the power of the human eye. 

Now, as everyone knows, Bears are near- 
sighted, and I was almost upon the animal 
before she saw me. Then she gave a loud 
" S-n-o-o-f ! " and ran into the depths of the for- 
est, her Cub so hot upon her trail that he 
might have stepped on it and torn it. 

So great was my relief that I laughed aloud, 
but I could not help wondering what would 
have happened if the Bear had been more 
near-sio-hted than she was. Nature o-ives the 
animals what they most desire — the silent 
wing to the Owl, the keen claws to the Pan- 
ther, and the soft walk to the Bear. 

I walked about for some little time, but 
saw no more Bears. I chronicled the incident 
in my note-book, immediately, naming the 
mother "Snoof," and the Cub " Snooflet." 
I supposed she was one of those who had 
been widowed by the traps in the forest 
outside of the Park limits, but inquiry at 
the hotel assured me that both she and her 
Cub were well known. I was told, also, 
that if I wished to see Bears, I must go to 



Snoof 63 

the garbage heap, a mile away from the Gey- 
ser House. 

That night, as we sat upon the veranda of 
the hotel, I regaled Mrs. Kirsten and the little 
girl with the story of my morning's adventure. 
The moon was shining brightly, and my fair 
companion had the immemorial charm of the 
widow, with the added witchery of moonlight. 
Together, the combination was a powerful one. 

Miranda climbed into my lap and nestled 
sleepily in the hollow of my arm. " Tell me," 
said Mrs. Kirsten, in a soft, musical voice, 
" why are you here ? " 

" Because you are," I responded, gallantly. 
" Why are you here ? " 

" On Miranda's account," she said, shortly. 
She snatched the sleeping child out of my 
arms, and in less time than it takes to tell it, 
she was gone. 

I waited nearly three hours, but she did not 
return, so I went off into the Park a little way 
to compose my thoughts for the night. In a 
clearing, four miles from the hotel, I came 
upon a strange sight. Snoof sat on her 
haunches, with one arm around her Cub. 



64 The Book of Clever Beasts 

With her free paw, she was pointing to the 
heavens, outhning, as I shortly saw, the con- 
stellations of Ursa Major and Ursa Minor for 
her offspring. Reverently removing my hat, 
I tiptoed away. Truly, maternal devbtion has 
depths far beyond my ken. 

In the night, I saw Snoof and Mrs. Kirsten, 
Miranda and Snooflet, waltzing around the 
garbage heap, and I was overjoyed to wake 
and discover that the painful spectacle was 
merely a fantasy of sleep. 

It must have been two or three days later 
that I went downstairs very early in the morn- 
ing and found Mrs. Kirsten upon the veranda 
with her little daughter. She was removing 
the child's shoes and stockings, and I did not 
make my presence known for fear of embar- 
rassing them both. 

Miranda toddled off, and her mother sat 
down upon the top step, watching her with 
agonised mother-eyes until she was well out of 
sight. Then a dry, tearless moan welled up 
from the depths of her heart. A moment 
later, her face was buried in her handkerchief, 
and she was shaking with sobs. 



Snoof 65 

This was too much for me. I am a land- 
lubber when it comes to salt water, and have 
never been able to endure a woman's tears. I 
hastened out and put my hand upon her 
shoulder, 

" Mrs. Kirsten," I said, very gently, ** you 
are troubled. Let me help you ! " 

" Oh, sir," she answered, breaking down 
utterly at the unexpected sympathy, " you 
cannot help me — no one can ! The most cele- 
brated physicians and alienists have given up 
the case." 

" Dear Mrs. Kirsten, Miranda the First," 
I continued, "you can at least tell me. Two 
heads are three times as good as one if the ex- 
tra head is mine." To the critical reader this 
may sound egotistical, but the situation was 
tense, and it was no more than the truth. 

" Oh, how can I bear to tell you ! I, who 
have always lived a decent, respectable life, 
holding my head as high as my neighbours' 
heads, I, to have this shame, this fear ! " 

" Dear Miranda the First," I pleaded, for- 
getting all conventional forms, " tell me ! Be- 
lieve me, I am your friend 1" 



66 The Book of Clever Beasts 

" I know it," she cried, " but it is too terri- 
ble ! Miranda, my darling little daughter, my 
own and only child, is — is — is — is " 

" Is what ? " I demanded, excitedly. 

" A Little Sister to the Woods ! " she gasped, 
then hid her face against my shoulder. 

With rare comprehension, for a man, I only 
stroked the weeper's spine and said nothing. 
At last her sobs quieted. " You do not de- 
spise me ? " she asked, tremulously. 

"Despise you?" I repeated. "No, dear 
lady, no ! " 

When she was calm, she told me the whole 
miserable story. From her birth, Miranda the 
Second had been exceedingly fond of animals 
and had refused to associate with children at all. 
She drew animals of all kinds as a sheet of 
sticky fly-paper draws Flies. She made friends 
with Lizards, Spiders, Toads, Bumblebees, 
Hornets, Foxes, Wasps, Rabbits, — in fact 
everything that crossed her path, with the 
single exception of Snakes. For three days 
she had been lost, and when she was finally 
discovered, it was in the wake of an Italian 
who had a dancing Bear. Miranda wept 



Snoof 67 

bitterly when the poHce took her home, and 
for over a week she raged and screamed, de- 
manding with every breath to be taken back 
to the " pitty Bear." 

It was only upon the promise of seeing 
plenty of Bears that she had quieted down at 
all, and her mother had brought her to Yel- 
lowstone Park, knowing that the animals there 
would be practically harmless, especially to 
one of Miranda's gifts, and in the hope that 
satiety might work a cure. 

Yet every morning, for the three weeks 
they had been there, Miranda had insisted 
upon going forth alone. " My baby," sobbed 
the mother, " my baby, out there alone with 
the wild beasts ! I cannot go with her, for she 
is safer without me. I am no relation what- 
ever to the woods, to say nothing of being a 
Little Sister." 

** But her shoes and stockings," I said, 
pointing to the soft bundle half concealed 
by Mrs. Kirsten's skirt, " why are they here?" 

" I do not know," she answered, shaking 
her head, sadly. " It is possible, of course, 
that they may insulate her, as it were, from 



68 The Book of Clever Beasts 

her mother earth, and thus make her so dif- 
ferent from the other animals that they could 
not recognise her as one of them. It is possi- 
ble, also, that she sees more Bears when she 
is barefooted." 

There was a long silence, then the little 
toddler came within ranofe of our vision. She 
was accompanied by a huge grizzly Bear, who 
was walking: beside her on his hind leo^s. Her 
little hand rested confidingly in his great paw, 
and I confess that the sight made me shudder. 
They came together, the great Bear walking 
slowly to accommodate Miranda's short steps, 
until they reached a point half-way between 
the hotel and the edge of the forest. 

Then the Bear stopped, pointed to us with 
his free paw, and Miranda nodded, in token 
that she understood. She ran on ahead a 
little way, then turned back. The great grizzly 
bowed very low, with his right paw placed 
over the pit of his stomach, then came down 
on all fours and ambled off into the forest. 

Miranda came to us, breathless and laugh- 
ing. " Oh," she cried, with her face aglow, 
" pitty Bears ! Booful, booful Bears ! " 




Her little hand rested confidingly in his great paw." 



Snoof 69 

" Pray, what does * booful ' mean ? " I in- 
quired in a low tone of the mother, as she put 
on Miranda's shoes and stockings. 

"It is early English for 'beautiful,'" ex- 
plained Mrs. Kirsten, her face white with pain. 

Perceiving that it would be the truest kind- 
ness to the woman I had learned to love, I 
stole away. My keen scientific mind quickly 
grasped the possibility before me. Miranda 
might be of great use to me — so much was 
plain — but would it be right? Then I saw 
that I could not hope to cure Miranda's malady 
until I had seen the working; of it so often 
that I fully understood its character and scope. 
Happy, happy thought ! 

That afternoon, while Mrs. Kirsten slept 
the sleep of utter exhaustion, I told Miranda 
the story of Goldenhair and the Three Bears, 
and so won her childish affections forever. 
As yet, I dared not suggest my plan to Mrs. 
Kirsten, but I felt sure that the time would 
come when I might appropriately do so. 

The next day I went out to the garbage 
heap, and settled myself comfortably under the 
tree nearest to it. I must have seen over two 



70 The Book of Clever Beasts 

hundred Bears, but I was near enough to none 
of them to make the observations I desired. 
So, with the true Scientist's fine disregard of 
inconvenience, I made an excavation in the 
top of the garbage heap, chmbed in, and con- 
cealed myself as well as I might with the lit- 
ter. I do not claim that it was pleasant, but 
it was unavoidable. 

All day I saw Bears, meanwhile plying my 
camera and note-book vigorously. They came 
and went, but before night I was so familiar 
with the different individuals that I had named 
many of them and knew them all by sight. I 
saw nothing of Snoof and Snooflet, however, 
and began to wonder where they were keep- 
ing themselves. 

Shortly after sunset, the Bears disappeared 
from the garbage heap, apparently with one 
accord. They moved so silently that I did 
not see any of them go away. I waited half 
an hour but none of them came back. Then I 
determined to extricate myself from my un- 
savoury predicament, but some sixth sense 
bade me wait a few moments longrer. 

Presently 1 saw the huge grizzly who was 



Snoof 7' 

Miranda's friend, cautiously limping toward 
the garbage heap, and my heart grew heavy 
with portent, for he was an ugly customer to 
meet without a weapon of any sort. He 
pawed over the cans, setting some aside with 
evident care, and kicking the others far away 
in disgust. I snapped my camera at him, and 
at the click he pricked up his ears, then gave a 
deep, thunderous growl which echoed and re- 
echoed through the silence. 

I scarcely dared to breathe. In my in- 
ner consciousness I promptly christened him 
" Growler," but I did not attempt to take his 
picture again. 

Hard upon the roar came Snoof, and she 
instantly rushed Growler away from the gar- 
bage heap. He made no defence, but simply 
slunk away, and I gathered that he was a 
suitor of hers who had not as yet found fa- 
vour. He was old and rheumatic, and many 
a time, after that, I found him wallowing in 
the hot mud around the sulphur spring to cure 
his rheumatism, but this belongs in another 
book. 

She sniffed over the cans, and angrily thrust 



72 The Book of Clever Beasts 

aside those that he had gathered together, 
though I could see that some of them were 
nearly full. She tasted here and there, but 
ate nothing, and presently went back into the 
forest. 

Snooflet met her here. She washed his 
face after the manner of a Cat, paying special 
attention to his neck, then began on his hands 
and nails. I did not know that Bears did 
this, though I have since discovered it in a 
new book on Natural History. Then, from 
its hiding-place at the root of a tree, she took 
a comb, made from an Elk's horn, and a very 
creditable comb it was, too. She combed poor 
Snooflet until he howled, then collared him and 
cuffed him, finally making him sit still until 
she completed her own toilet. 

Together they approached the garbage heap, 
Snooflet sniffing loudly in anticipation of the 
feast. He seized immediately upon a tin 
which had contained maple syrup, and began 
to eat greedily, but his mother gave him an- 
other pair of cuffs and took it away from 
him. 

I wondered what her object could be, but I 



Snoof 11 

was not long left in doubt. Bidding him be 
quiet, she pawed over the rubbish until she 
found two tins which had contained condensed 
soup. They ate the remnants of this, polish- 
ing the inside of the cans with their rough 
tongues until the metal shone like new. Then 
Snooflet had a salmon can and his mother a 
lobster tin which contained little aside from 
the juice. Next they each had an entire can 
of roast beef, which had somehow been spoiled 
in transit, some cold potatoes, some peelings 
of raw potatoes, half a can of peas, and a 
canned tomato or two. A dry cracker came 
next, with some salad dressing and a hard rind 
of Roquefort. I wondered why she did not 
make a presentable salad of the tomato and 
the dressing — salads are always made of left- 
overs and these things had been left over 
a long time, but I dared not make the sug- 
gestion for fear my first name would have to be 
changed to Claude if I did so. 

Then came dessert. Snooflet had his ma- 
ple syrup tin, and his mother the remnants of 
a pot of raspberry jam. Having eaten their 
dinner in well-bred seclusion and in the proper 



74 The Book of Clever Beasts 

order, they went away together, apparently 
happy. 

By this time I was hungry myself, so I 
climbed out and made my way to the Geyser 
House. Mrs. Kirsten was on the veranda, 
and at the sight of me she laughed the first 
hearty, unconscious laugh I had ever heard 
from her lips. " Hello, garbage pail," she 
said, merrily, when the paroxysm had sub- 
sided somewhat, " why don't you go around 
the back way ? " 

I looked at myself. A sardine box hung 
on my tie, a lobster tin protruded from my 
pocket, and I was covered from head to foot 
with melon seeds. A cabbage leaf and a 
melon rind adorned my hat. 

Melancholy though I was, I was about to 
pass her in a frigid, dignified manner, and go 
up to my room, but the stony-hearted manager 
of the hotel interfered. " Here, you blamed 
old scavenger," he cried, " this is n't a dump 
heap. Go and bury your clothes ! Why 
you look like a guy, sir ! " 

" Is not this the Geyser House ? " I asked. 
The joke, which might have been sold to a 



Snoof 75 

funny paper for three dollars, was utterly lost 
upon him. He repeated his impolite sug- 
gestion about my clothes and said he would 
send a boy to me with more. 

I had no choice but to obey. In my changed 
raiment I was allowed to go to my room, 
where a bath, clean linen, and a shave speedily 
set me right again. I had left my clothes in 
the woods for future expeditions of the same 
sort. 

Elaborating my notes and developing my 
plates took me the better part of a week, and 
all the time, there was a decided coolness 
between Mrs. Kirsten and myself. Not so 
with Miranda. She loved me, if her mother 
did not, and pleaded with me at every meal 
to take her with me when I went to see the 
" pitty Bears." 

The next mornino; I was sitting on one 
corner of the veranda and Mrs. Kirsten on 
the other, with Miranda's shoes and stockings 
in her lap. I knew where the child had gone 
and surmised that a tempest was raging in 
the mother's heart, but she was too proud to 
turn to me for even a look of sympathy. 



76 The Book of Clever Beasts 

Presently Miranda came toward us at the 
top of her speed, with a Bear in full pursuit. 
Man though I was, my heart stood still with 
fear. I had no weapon — I was utterly help- 
less — and Mrs. Kirsten, literally paralysed 
with horror, stood like a statue. 

The Bear was gaining at every step. Go 
it, Miranda ! On, for Heaven's sake on-! 
Heed not the thorns that pierce thy tender 
feet, but run, Miranda, run ! 

With an inarticulate moan, Mrs, Kirsten 
flew down the steps, her arms outstretched, 
and I followed, willing to sacrifice my own 
life, if need be, to save the child of the 
woman I loved. But we were too late. 
Snoof — for it was she — felled Miranda to 
the ground with one blow, turned her limp 
body over, face upward, and took something 
out of her hand, throwing it aside with an 
angry sniff. 

In a twinkling, Miranda was on her feet, 
violently chastising the Bear with her chubby 
hands. " Naughty, bad Snoofie! " she screamed. 
" Take Miwanda's bewwies! " 

Snoof cast a glance of peculiar intelligence 



Snoof 1"] 

at me, winked suggestively, then ambled off 
into the forest to rejoin her Cub, who was 
calling her plaintively. 

I hastened to find what the Bear had thrown 
away. It was a little china mug, ornate with 
blue and gold, and the inscription, " For A 
Good Girl," lettered on it. All around were 
scattered the bright red berries which Miranda 
had picked. At once I understood — they 
were poison, and Snoof had saved Miranda's 
life. 

In a few well-chosen words, I acquainted 
the mother with the facts. She promptly 
spanked Miranda and carried her into the 
house, yelling like any normal child. In an 
hour she returned, pale, haggard, and trem- 
bling with emotion. 

" To think," she said, brokenly, " that that 
old Bear should have saved my child's life ! 
I will never doubt the wisdom of Providence 
again. Had it not been for Snoof, Miranda 
would at this moment have been a cold, cold 
corpse. The Little Sister of the Woods 
would have known the ' pitty Bears ' no 
more ! 



78 The Book of Clever Beasts 

I was gratified at the change in my loved 
one's demeanour, but the next morning the 
bars were up again and Mrs. Kirsten treated 
me with the barest politeness. 

Some days later the grizzly came up to the 
hotel, dressed in the coat and vest, collar and 
tie, which I had left in the woods. He had 
evidently found that the trousers did not fit 
him, for he had made no more attempt than 
a Highlander to dress the rest of him, and 
went about, with equal unconcern, in his 
bare legs. 

He coquetted around for a long time, watch- 
ing for Miranda, then Snoof appeared, with a 
tin pail in each hand. She had come to the 
hotel, as she often did, for milk and molas- 
ses. Miranda came out and spoke in friendly 
fashion with the grizzly, using a language I 
did not understand, but she paid no attention 
whatever to Snoof. Having secured her milk 
and molasses, Snoof went away, leaving her 
suitor conversing amiably with Miranda, but 
I could see a red look in her eyes that boded 
no good to anybody. 

The end came shortly afterward. Miranda 



Snoof 79 

and I had been playing croquet and Miranda 
still kept her mallet in her tiny, chubby hand. 
Not expecting visitors from the suburbs, 
Miranda wore her shoes. I mention this, 
that the reader may judge whether or not it 
had any influence upon what followed. 

We sat down upon the steps to rest a mo- 
ment. The steps of the Geyser House were 
very comfortable indeed, being made of soft 
wood and havings been given two coats of 
paint. 

Suddenly the grizzly materialised. You can 
never hear a Bear come. Now you see it and 
now you don't — they make no noise what- 
ever. He had on my coat and vest and was 
walking on all fours, but at the sight of Mi- 
randa, he stood up and began to walk like a 
man — a man with the rheumatism. 

The child laughed gleefully at the sight. 
" Wait," she said, " baby make circus." 

She called the Cat, set it upon the grizzly's 
back, and made them gallop around an im- 
aginary ring in spite of the grizzly's loud 
yowls of pain. While the fun was in full 
blast, Snoof appeared, aflame with hatred 



8o The Book of Clever Beasts 

and jealousy, and charged straight at Mir- 
anda. 

My tongue cleaved to the roof of my mouth 
and I tasted blood, but Miranda, with great 
calmness, raised her croquet mallet, and waited, 
— the merest fraction of a second. At the 
proper instant, she brought it down with a 
sounding whack upon the end of Snoof's 
nose — her single vulnerable spot. The great 
Bear fell to earth, stunned. 

I quickly finished the execution with my 
pocket knife. The grizzly, frightened, tore 
madly off into the woods, forgetting his rheu- 
matism, and leaving us alone with the dead. 

It was not pleasant, even though the end 
of a wild animal is always a tragedy. The 
only way to make a story of this kind un- 
tragic is to quit before you get through. 

An astounding change was taking place in 
Miranda. She leaned over the corpse, her 
eyes dilated and her small body tense. Her 
breast was heaving and she shook like an 
aspen. I would have picked her up and 
carried her to her mother, but I was fascinated 
by her face, and moreover, I wanted to see 



Snoof 8 1 

what would happen. The true Scientist must 
ever sacrifice his emotions to his reason. 

Gradually, the entire expression of her face 
altered. The eerie, wild look had vanished 
completely, and in its place was a very normal 
fright. " Tum ! " she shrieked. " Baby 'fraid ! " 

I took up the Little Sister of the Woods 
and ran into the hotel, rejoicing in my heart 
that the child was cured. That evening, I 
proposed marriage to Mrs. Kirsten, who was 
overjoyed at her child's sudden recovery, but 
my hopes were felled to earth as suddenly as 
Snoof had been that very afternoon. 

" The bigamy laws are very strict," she 
sighed, meditatively. " Do you not find 
them so ? " 

" What," I gasped, " is your husband alive ?" 

" Yes," she returned, " if he has n't drunk 
himself to death since we came here. If 
Miranda had only been able to charm Snakes," 
she continued, " we could have lived very hap- 
pily with her Pa." 




KITCHI-KITCHI 

Strangely enough, this episode made me 
very weary of the Yellowstone. Mrs. Kirsten 
and the cured Miranda departed by the first 
train, leaving a formal farewell for me with 
the hotel clerk, who grinned sheepishly as he 
delivered the message. Republics are said 
to be proverbially ungrateful, and women are 
proverbially uncertain. I concluded to trust 
them no more, but to go back to one of my 
lodges in the vast wilderness and spend the 
remainder of the Summer far from madden- 
ing woman's ignoble wiles. 

I paid my William at the hotel — I have too 
much respect for it to call it a bill — and re- 
turned to my hermitage by the river and the 
little stream, where Jagg lay buried. As be- 
fore, I found that my cabin had recently been 
occupied. 

Human belongings were strewn upon my 

cot, and a kettle, hung in gypsy fashion, sang 

82 



Kitchi-Kitchi 83 

merrily over my camp-fire. I was righteously 
incensed, and I determined to make Ab un- 
derstand, once for all, that my possessions 
were not to be trifled with. He had poisoned 
my pet, the principle remaining the same even 
though I was anxious to rid myself of that 
selfsame pet, and had made himself obnoxious 
in every possible way. With every heart-beat 
my ire grew until it assumed fairly tremen- 
dous proportions. 

I went back to my cabin in search of some 
sort of a weapon, muttering to myself and sav- 
agely shaking my fists. When I came out, 
armed with a base-ball bat, an Indian stood 
by the fire, regarding me with pained as- 
tonishment. 

He was about six feet six in height, and 
wide in proportion. His hair was short, and 
he wore no feathered head-dress, much to my 
surprise, for I thought an Indian always wore a 
feathered head-dress to keep his wigwa'm. His 
powerful bronze body was artistically draped 
in a Navajo blanket, however, and he had 
moccasins on his feet, so he looked his part. 

Students of psychology have often ob- 



84 The Book of Clever Beasts 

served the inexplicable effect that a surprise 
has upon the emotions. Frequently a com- 
plete reversal takes place, and it was so with 
me. A moment before, I had been furious 
and literally aflame with the lust of slaughter. 
Now I was conscious only of a broad, far- 
reaching brotherly love, and a keen, deep- 
seated desire to be friends with that Indian. 

Acting swiftly upon this impulse, I advanced 
with hands outstretched and a smile of welcome 
upon my lips. "How!" I exclaimed. "The 
White Father is overjoyed to find his brother, 
the Red Man, sharing his humble hospitality. 
Too long have the feet of the palefaces had 
the right of way upon the trail. The woods 
are lonely without their brothers, the Red 
Men, and together we will live in this peace- 
ful solitude until Bliz-Bliz, the snow-bird, 
spreads his wings and brings the cold. In 
my knapsack I have ample provisions to 
make the heart of my noble brother glad — 
Ma-Ma, the white bread, Bow-Wow, the 
Bologna sausage, Fishy-Can-Dish, the sar- 
dine, a package of the famous Polly crackers, 
Ah-Sid, the lemon, and a fragment of Phew- 



Kitchi-Kitchi 85 

Phew, the well-known German cheese. Strange 
lands have sent their best viands to grace this 
notable occasion. Will not my brother, the 
Red Man, accept these small gifts until such 
time as I can go to the city after more ? This 
very night I will set out upon the long trail, 
returning upon the wings of the wind with 
further tokens. If this is pleasing to my 
brother, I will nov/ spread the evening meal, 
and after it, while the Night Owl searches for 
his prey, we will smoke the Perfectos of Peace, 
Will not my brother, the Red Man, tell the 
paleface his name ? " 

''John Baldwin," said the Indian, very 
quietly. " Carlisle, '99. Centre rush on the 
team." 

When I came to my senses, he was fanning 
me with a corner of his blanket, and moisten- 
ing my numb lips with brandy. Presently I 
was able to sit up against a pine tree, though 
still weak, and take notice. 

"Are you — ?" I stammered. "Are you 
civilised ?" 

" No," returned the Indian, with well-bred 
composure. " Are you ? " 



86 The Book of Clever Beasts 

I could not tell whether I was or not, and 
with the swift, silent movements peculiar to 
his race, Mr. Baldwin emptied out the con- 
tents of my knapsack. He squeezed the 
lemon over the sardines, rubbing the mixture 
to a paste, cut the bread in very thin slices, 
and expeditiously made a pile of sandwiches. 
He brought me one on a burdock leaf. 

" How," he said. " Fishy-Can-Dish make 
paleface strong. Heap good sandwich." 

Trembling, I ate, and the stony features 
relaxed into a smile. " What part of the 
country did you come from ? " he asked. 

" All over it," I answered. " The world is 
my country, humanity my people, and study- 
ing Natural History my job." 

" Oh," said Mr. Baldwin. " I see. There 
was one of those blokes at Carlisle, but the 
boys chased it out of him," 

I would fain have risen to my feet, but I 
was held back. " Don't get excited, part- 
ner," continued my friend, who had one of 
his huge paws laid on my shoulder in a 
way that implied intimacy. "Whose cabin is 
this?" 



Kitchi-Kitchi 87 

" It was mine," I explained, " until you 
came. Now it is yours." 

" No," replied Mr. Baldwin, " it is still 
yours. You are off your trolley there. I beg 
your pardon for my intrusion, and to-morrow 
I will leave you. I would go to-night, but 
there is no train, and I must perforce trespass 
upon your hospitality a little further." 

" You are welcome," I said, feebly. " It 
is the greatest joy of my life to have you 
here." 

" I do not doubt it," he rejoined. " No 
one who heard your simple, sincere words 
could think otherwise. Such fine feelings are 
rare in the prosaic age we live in, do you not 
think so ? " 

I could only acquiesce. In fact, every time 
he said anything, I found that I had precisely 
the same point of view, and he must have 
thought me a very agreeable companion. 

My night's rest was illuminated with vivid 
dreams in which the war-whoop and the toma- 
hawk played a star part, but whenever I 
started from my cot with my hair bristling, 
I was reassured by the peaceful breathing 



88 The Book of Clever Beasts 

of iny companion, who slept soundly on the 
other cot on the opposite side of the room. 

In the morning he explained his Summer 
adventuring as a reversion to type. He was 
a lawyer in Oklahoma, but nevertheless he 
had been consumed with the longing to live 
as his ancestors did and to dress as they 
dressed. He had felt the call of the wild 
while he was toiling over briefs and contracts, 
and so far he had carried out his plan, omit- 
ting only the murderous features of his fore- 
fathers' working days. 

As his train did not leave until afternoon, 
he spent the time from breakfast to luncheon 
in my society, and afterward I was glad that 
he did so, for I learned many curious facts 
which I misfht otherwise have missed. 

The trees around my cabin were so full of 
Squirrels that you could hardly see the leaves, 
let alone the branches, which were obscured 
by the bark of the Squirrels until their native 
covering was wholly hidden. The chatter 
was incessant and was like nothing so much 
as the composite sound one hears at the 
entrance to the Doe Show. Perceivincr that I 



Kitchi-Kitchi 89 

was interested, Mr. Baldwin very kindly gave 
up a little of his time to the Squirrel pro- 
position. 

"What is the Indian name for Squirrel?" 
I asked. 

" Kitchi-Kitchi," he replied. 

" How did it happen ? " I inquired. " What 
is the application ?" 

With a fine smile upon his bronze face, he 
went to the foot of a tree, where the Squirrels 
were having a nutty argument, and called 
very softly, using a language I did not under- 
stand. Then he retired almost to the door 
of the cabin, and sat down, still making the 
same peculiar call. Presently, with a swift, 
searching glance from a pair of bright eyes 
and a soft rustle like that made by a new silk 
petticoat, a lady Squirrel, of the red variety, 
came down the tree and ran straight into his 
lap. 

" Kitchi-Kitchi," said Mr. Baldwin. 

At this the Squirrel turned over, and the 
Indian, with a playful forefinger, tickled her in 
the ribs, again saying, " Kitchi-Kitchi." The 
Squirrel shrieked with delight and ran away, 



90 The Book of Clever Beasts 

returning almost immediately to have the 
pleasant pastime repeated. 

The argument in the tree broke up, and 
Mr. Baldwin tickled Squirrels, each time say- 
ing," Kitchi-Kitchi," until his finger must have 
ached, strong though it was. 

I was very much astonished and keenly in- 
terested. From his ancestors, all of whom 
belonged to the First Families of America, 
this young Carlisle man had inherited the won- 
derful lore of the woods. What could I not 
hope to accomplish if I had him with me ! 

When I broached the subject, he frowned, 
and said he must be going. Within four min- 
utes he was gone, as completely as if the earth 
had swallowed him. I was left alone with my 
books, a half-eaten sardine sandwich, Kitchi- 
Kitchi, and my thoughts. 

I devoted some days to replenishing my lar- 
der. It was only twenty miles to the nearest 
village and I went every day, bringing back 
all I could carry each time. I laid in a liberal 
supply of pemmican, army beef, home-made 
biscuits, and other condensed foods, and rolled 
a barrel of flour before me on one of my last 



Kitchi-Kitchi 91 

trips home. On the very last trip of all, I 
brought a bushel of shelled corn and two 
bushels of nuts for the Squirrels. 

For a few days there was silence in the 
branches, then the racket began once more 
and from that time on there were plenty of 
Squirrels. My affections, however, were prin- 
cipally engaged by the bright little lady 
Squirrel I had first seen and whom I named 
*' Kitchi-Kitchi." She was a beautiful crea- 
ture, in her mahogany-coloured coat with its 
fine markings, her dancing eyes, and her mag- 
nificent tail. She had all the airs of a sou- 
brette and continually played to the front row. 

I soon identified many of the Squirrels and 
sinorled them out from amongr their fellows. 
One of the red Squirrels I named *' Meeko," 
because he was far from meek, and because it 
is an Indian word meaning " mischief-maker." 
Another one, also a red Squirrel, was called 
" Bismarck." These two were suitors for Kit- 
chi-Kitchi's hand. She had other admirers, 
of course, but the race soon narrowed down to 
these two. 

It was Bismarck who greeted me one after- 



92 The Book of Clever Beasts 

noon when I ran my canoe ashore near camp. 
He stood on his hind legs, on the sandy beach, 
barking and gesticulating furiously. When I 
landed, he went to a log near by and ran the 
whole length of it three times, barking madly 
meanwhile, then back to me, then to the log 
again. It was not until he sat up on the log 
and beckoned to me with his right paw that 
I discovered what he meant. He was asking 
me, as plainly as any Squirrel could, to follow 
him. 

With every sense instantly alert, I did as he 
wished me to. He led me to a hole he had 
dug in the leaves and pointed to it, still bark- 
ing. I bent over it and found a Toad, which 
had been bitten through the back and could 
not hop. 

I picked up the Toad and held him in my 
hand, meditating upon the mutability of all 
earthly things, and Bismarck almost went mad 
with excitement. He had evidently found the 
strange creature and bitten it through to make 
it lie still until he could find me. Now he 
was asking me what it was and whether 
or not it was edible. 



Kitchi-Kitchi 93 

By signs I made Bismarck understand that 
it was not edible in its raw state, and that I had 
no inclination whatever to cook it for him. I 
put it back into the hole, covered it, and went 
off a little way. Bismarck uncovered it, bit it 
once more, and was immediately taken very 
sick. He was well satisfied to leave it alone 
after that, and I made a corset of splints for it, 
lacing it on with a bit of twine I happened to 
have in my pocket. This done, the Toad 
hopped off in a great hurry, not even staying 
to say " thank you." He evidently had no 
desire to pit his feeble strength against Bis- 
marck again. 

At the time, this whole incident was new 
to me, but after reaching home, I discovered 
much the same thing in a new book on Nat- 
ural History. The other observer had found a 
Lizard in the hole, instead of a Toad, and he 
made no corset for the injured animal — at 
least if he did, he did not record it, but I al- 
ways record everything. 

Every morning, at four o'clock, Meeko, Bis- 
marck, and Kitchi-Kitchi would waken me by 
giving a dance, with quadrille calls, on the roof 



94 The Book of Clever Beasts 

of my cabin. I soon formed the habit of early 
rising and once I was up, ready for the day's 
toil, before three. In order to let them know 
how it seemed, I pounded with an axe on the 
trees where the three had their nests, and they 
all scampered down, very much frightened. 
After that, I was not disturbed until half-past 
five, when they insisted upon my rising, and to 
which, as a compromise measure, I did not in 
the least object. 

Kitchi-Kitchi, Meeko, and Bismarck would 
come into my cabin several times each day 
to be tickled. At first I found the novelty of 
it rather amusing, but at length it became 
wearing, and I was obliged to shut the doors 
and windows in order to have any time to 
write. Even then, they would dance on the 
roof and pound on the window glass in a way 
which was exceedingly disturbing to one of 
my artistic temperament. 

My table was near the fireplace and Kitchi- 
Kitchi came in one day by way of the chimney. 
She arrived on the fair, open page of my 
observation ledger, sooty, panting, but thor- 
oughly happy, and demanded to be tickled. 




"She arrived on the fair, open pa-e of my ob.scrvatii)n le.lyer, sooty, 
"tiny, but thoroughly happy." 



Kitchi-Kitchi 95 

After that, the others came in that way, and 
even when the doors and windows were wide 
open, they would sometimes come in by the 
chimney route just for the fun of the thing. 

It is not generally known that the Flying 
Squirrel has not a monopoly of the aerial 
naviofation business as far as mammals are 
concerned. His body, it is true, is especially 
constructed for flying. The loose skin with 
which his legs are connected spreads out in 
falling, parachute fashion. Perhaps the other 
Squirrels have learned this from him ; perhaps 
they learned it independently, but it is certain 
that a Squirrel can fall from almost any height 
without apparent inconvenience. They flat- 
ten their bodies and tails against the air and 
sail triumphantly downward, alighting easily 
and scampering off unhurt. 

I did not know this before, but now I saw it 
done repeatedly. It was one of Kitchi-Kitchi's 
favourite amusements to send Meeko and Bis- 
marck to the topmost branch of a lofty oak 
near by, and at her signal make them jump. 
The one reaching the ground first was re- 
warded with a nut and a playful, coquettish pat. 



96 The Book of Clever Beasts 

Like the Chipmunks, the Squirrels hide their 
food, though it is done differently and on a 
much smaller scale. The Chipmunk will hide 
much and all in one storehouse ; the Squirrel 
hides very little and everything in a different 
place — an ear of corn in the crotch of a tree, a 
handful of acorns under the eaves of a barn, 
bits of bread between two twigs, relying on 
the spring of the wood to keep it in position, 
and nuts everywhere. 

I saw a terrible quarrel once, between Bis- 
marck and a Blue Jay who raided his bakery. 
When it was over, Bismarck had four pecks on 
his body and one peck of feathers for his nest. 
The Bird immediately started south, though it 
is not common for this species to travel in the 
altogether. He was naked and very much 
cast down — in fact, the bluest jay I ever saw. 

One day I did something for Kitchi-Kitchi 
which won her eternal gratitude. We had 
gone fishing together, as we often did, and she 
sat upon the gunwale of my canoe, sorely 
tempted to rock the boat, but obedient to my 
expressed command not to. Presently, by 
gestures, she made me understand that she 



Kitchi-Kitchi 97 

was thirsty. I dipped up a cup of water 
from the lake on which we were rowing and 
offered it to her, but she put it aside with 
disgust. So I put a Httle brandy from my flask 
into the water and offered it to her again. 
She was indignant and scolded me violently — 
her language was positively scurrilous. When 
we landed she still insisted that she was thirsty, 
and, at my wits' end, I drew some of the sap 
from a tree for her and offered it to her in 
the cup. 

She drank every drop and whisked about 
madly to express her joy. She nibbled at 
my ears and put her cool nose into my 
neck, then tried to tickle me under the chin 
with her paw, making a noise, meanwhile, that 
sounded like " Kitchi-Kitchi." It was un- 
pleasant, but I understood the spirit of it and 
forgave the means. 

The same afternoon, she led her admirers 
a pretty chase. Fleet as they were, Kitchi- 
Kitchi was more fleet. Nothing except Ata- 
lanta or an automobile gone wild could run as 
she did that afternoon, I had previously 
wished I knew the Squirrel language, and now 



98 The Book of Clever Beasts 

I saw that in order to converse intelHgently 
with Kitchi-Kitchi, I must learn Russian. Fi- 
nally, in a bacchanalian frenzy of action, she 
ran to the top of a lofty oak and prepared to 
jump to the next, folding her tail daintily 
about her as a fine lady does her skirts at a 
muddy crossing. 

Meeko screamed in terror and Bismarck 
fainted, but Kitchi-Kitchi made the jump safely 
with several inches to spare. After that, when- 
ever she wanted to brino- them to terms, she 
took the high jump. The scheme always 
worked, but it was a terrible leap, even for a 
Flying Squirrel, — fully twenty feet, — and Kit- 
chi-Kitchi had no wings except her youthful 
spirits and her bounding energy. Many a 
time have I seen her upon a lofty branch, 
swinging by one hand, and waving the other 
at Meeko in a tree close by. He was fain to 
follow her, but she was always about four 
trees ahead. 

Never have I seen the sweet influence of 
woman more beautifully exemplified. When 
she was with them, Bismarck and Meeko treated 
one another like long-lost brothers. The 



Kitchi-Kitchi 99 

three took many a promenade together, arm 
in arm, Kitchi-Kitchi folding her tail over the 
hollow of her elbow as though it were a train. 
When she went away for her afternoon nap, 
or to gather some choice morsels for her even- 
ing meal, they invariably fought. 

I kept court-plaster and bandages on hand to 
repair the damage that was always done on such 
occasions, and Kitchi-Kitchi never appeared to 
notice it except once. When Bismarck called 
upon her with a blood-stained bandage tied 
over one eye, she shrieked and kicked him out- 
doors. He fell to the g^round like a dead 
weight, I suppose because his heart was so 
heavy — but fortunately was not injured further. 
Meeko had her to himself for a week after 
that, then Bismarck, the bandage gone, re- 
sumed his place at her side and upheld his 
right to it in many a scrimmage. 

The two vied with each other in bringing 
dainties to tempt her appetite. Robins' eggs, 
with the top part of the shell removed, all 
ready for sucking, mushrooms, nuts, berries, 
apple seeds, pop-corn, and the thousand other 
choice bits her educated palate was accustomed 



L<#a 



loo The Book of Clever Beasts 

to, were laid at the door of her nest, high in 
the branches. It was Meeko who accident- 
ally brought her a poisonous mushroom which 
made her so ill that for days her life was de- 
spaired of. She forgave him, however, and 
used to sit in the sun, very thin and pale, with 
two devoted attendants to wait upon her. 

Naturalists who think that Squirrels eat 
Birds are very much mistaken. I have seen 
Meeko pounce on a wayfaring Bird hundreds 
of times, but curiosity has always been the 
motive. They will not eat Bird unless it is 
properly cooked. I know, for I have tried 
them with bits of a raw Crow, that had died 
from natural causes. The fact that Birds are 
not afraid of Squirrels triumphantly proves my 
theory, in spite of the fact that the eggs are 
occasionally taken out of the nest. When- 
ever a Squirrel has visited a Bird's nest, after 
the young were hatched, curiosity and friendly 
interest in the welfare of the young have been 
the sole reasons in every case. 

Meantime, my fame as a tickler had spread 
abroad, and I used to give up hours to it each 
day. I might better have spent the time in 



Kitchi-Kitchi loi 

writing, but it was so noisy that I could not 
write, except to make hasty notes in my note- 
book, and I was there to study Natural His- 
tory. An old grey Squirrel from the next 
county brought her entire family of young for 
me to tickle, and when I refused, she bit one 
of my ears until the blood came in a bright 
red stream. Bismarck drove her away and 
Kitchi-Kitchi stanched the bleeding with a 
bit of Rabbit fur she brought from the woods 
for the purpose. 

Kitchi-Kitchi was devotedly attached to me. 
She would stop eating a nut any time to scam- 
per down the tree-trunk and perch upon my 
arm or shoulder. She would sit upon my 
shoulder while I performed my manifold house- 
hold duties, and would occasionally precede the 
broom, sweeping the floor with her tail. She 
would stay in my cabin long after I had told her 
to go home, and when I put her out, she would 
return by way of the window or chimney, cross 
the room, climb me, and put her head down 
between my collar and neck, barking mean- 
while unless I spoke to her, stroked her, or 
tickled her. It used to give me an uncanny 



I02 The Book of Clever Beasts 

feeling when she ran up my spine while I was 
writing in my ledger — in other words, the 
climate disagreed with me. 

It fell to my lot this Summer to hear a 
Squirrel singing a duet with itself. It sounds 
as though the voice were split, the high part 
comingf through the nose, and the low tones 
through the throat. It is always a lively tune, 
perfectly rhythmical, interspersed with gales 
and gusts and cyclones of very human laugh- 
ter. It is not generally known that Squirrels 
sing, but Little Brothers of the Woods can 
find out a great deal if they only give their 
minds to it and buy plenty of books. 

At length, I missed Kitchi-Kitchi, and my 
heart grew sick with foreboding. I feared lest 
one of those terrible tragedies of the woods 
had taken place and my little friend's life had 
thus been sacrificed. The end of a wild ani- 
mal is always a tragedy — the pitiless law of 
the wilderness, supported by claw and tooth 
and fang, has so ordained. 

Meeko and Bismarck were as usual, except 
that they carried a great many nuts and mush- 
rooms up one particular tree. Determined to 



Kitchi-Kitchi 103 

find out, I climbed, and there on her nest, pale 
and worn with the long vigil, but still cheer- 
ful, sat Kitchi-Kitchi. 

She would not let me lift her, protesting 
loudly when I tried it, but when I tickled her 
in the ribs she moved enough to give me a 
glimpse of the eggs under her. Very few 
observers have ever seen a Squirrel's egg. 
They are about the size of a Turkey's egg, a 
dark brown in colour, with a long, handle-like 
projection, fully as long as the egg itself, at 
the wider end. This undoubtedly holds the 
tail of the baby Squirrel. 

Six weeks later she came down — a mere 
shadow of her former self. In three weeks 
more, the babies were able to come also, and 
they made a pretty group, playing in my door- 
yard and falling over themselves at every step, 
not yet having learned how to manage their 
tails. I would have tickled them, gladly, but I 
already had my hands full and I did not wish 
the new generation to acquire the habit. 

Things went on as usual until late in the 
Fall. Summer lingered long that year, and 
the woods were a golden glory almost until 



104 The Book of Clever Beasts 

November, but the Birds had gone and the 
Squirrels were making ready to follow. 

One morning there was a great chattering, 
and I was so sure that preparations for de- 
parture had begun that I gave up my work 
entirely and went out to investigate. A few 
moments of close, quiet observation proved 
my hasty surmise correct. 

From every conceivable corner were brought 
large, flat chips. They were fully six inches 
square and much worn, as if they had been 
used often. A depression in the centre was 
the only variation from the flat surface. 

Such a time as there was ! The woods 
seemed to be one solid Squirrel in multitudi- 
nous attitudes. The scene would have been 
very perplexing to any but a perfectly sober 
man, and at intervals I even doubted the evi- 
dence of my own senses. 

The older and larger Squirrels dragged all 
the chips to the brink of the river, which 
flowed from north to south, and then, at last, I 
began to understand. So poor are our weak 
wits in comparison with the denizens of wood 
and field, whom, in our pitiable self-conceit, we 



Kitchi-Kitchi 105 

call "the lower animals." A Squirrel is nor- 
mally a much higher animal than any of us, ex- 
cepting only the tree-dwellers on the Orinoco. 

Some of the chips were fastened together 
with strands of wild-grape vine, and were 
heavily laden with nuts and corn. Others 
were passenger boats and sailed proudly alone. 
The young ones were put on the chips before 
they were launched, and screamed in terror as 
the little craft slid into the current. 

The commissary fleet, in charge of an old 
grey Squirrel, who was perfectly calm, was 
launched first, then the chips bearing the small 
fry. The passenger boats were last to go, 
and the travellers swam out into the stream 
to catch them. One grey Squirrel missed 
his boat entirely and was drowned. It came 
ashore four miles farther down and I still have 
it among my most-prized possessions. 

As long as I live, I shall never forget that 
sight. The day was glorious, with never a 
hint of frost in the air, and the woods, 
strangely silent, now that the Little People 
were gone, echoed and re-echoed when a nut 
dropped on the fallen leaves. 



io6 The Book of Clever Beasts 

Down the stream sailed the Squirrel fleet — 
brave little mariners, these, with tails proudly 
spread to catch each favouring wind. Bis- 
marck did a wonder of navigation, tacking re- 
peatedly and coming up beside Kitchi-Kitchi 
under full sail. Meeko was stationed at her 
other side and his boat went at exactly the 
same speed as hers. Close together, as mar- 
ried lovers down the stream of life, the three 
sailed, with the family of young ones on a 
large chip just ahead, where the anxious 
mother could keep an eye upon them. 

I stood watching for over an hour. The 
current was swift and bore them away all too 
soon, but with my powerful field-glass I kept 
them in sight until the tears blinded me and I 
had to wipe my eyes. 

The only way to make an animal's story un- 
tragic is to finish before you reach the end, so 
I shall leave them here — that little company 
of fur-clad, bright-eyed captains, making the 
long journey southward before the frost should 
come. Far down the stream was a bend, 
where the fleet turned, and even with the field- 
glass I could not see around a corner, so with 



Kitchi-Kitchi 107 

one last lingering look and a deep sigh, I gave 
it up. 

But a glimmer caught my eye, and, trem- 
bling with excitement, I raised my glass once 
more, fixing it upon the bend of the river, 
where the last boat was just rounding the 
curve. 

Was it fancy, or did Kitchi-Kitchi stand up, 
wave her hand at me, and across the boundless 
waste of waters that lay between us, send me 
a parting smile ? 




JIM CROW 

I ALWAYS called him that because he was so 
dark and because I have no race prejudice 
whatever. People used to allude to him as my 
Crow, but the real truth lay much deeper than 
that. If there was any idea of possession in 
our somewhat singular relationship, I was 
Jim's — he was not in the least mine. 

He adopted me one day at sight. I was 
walking through a pasture about fourteen 
miles from my cabin, when I saw Jim sitting 
upon a rail fence. He did not move at my 
approach, and I thought he must be a stuffed 
animal, put out to dry by some taxidermist in 
the neighbourhood. I walked up to him and, 
at length, stroked his head gently. At this, 
he opened his eyes, yawned, and with a sleepy 
" Caw-w-w-w,'' perched upon my shoulder 
and so rode home with me, in spite of my 
protests. 

io8 



Jim Crow 109 

To this day I have never been able to solve 
the mystery. I examined him carefully for 
signs of damage, but to all intents and pur- 
poses he was sound in wind and limb, free 
from pink-eye, string-halt, or glanders, and not 
afraid of automobile or steam roller. 

He ate plentifully of the simple meal I 
cooked over my camp-fire, and, while I 
washed the dishes, followed me around like 
a devoted dog. I suppose he must have re- 
cognised me as a Little Brother of the Woods 
— at any rate, he stuck to me closer than a 
brother while our strange attachment lasted. 

When I perceived that Jim had no inten- 
tion of leaving the cabin, I went outside, 
shook him off my shoulder, and ran back, 
closing the door gently but firmly. Imagine 
my surprise to hear a loud, jubilant "Caw!" 
from the rafters. Jim had anticipated me, and 
had flown in — when, I did not know. Three 
times this was repeated. At last, I thrust my 
head and shoulders through the window and 
remained there some time, enjoying the land- 
scape and the Summer moonlight. Jim, still 
on my coat collar, finally went to sleep, and 



I lo The Book of Clever Beasts 

this time I easily dislodged him, then quickly 
closed the window with a triumphant bang. 

Outside, everything was suspiciously still, 
and I began to wonder whether or not Jim 
had taken offence and left me for good. I 
was still meditating when there was a crash of 
glass, and Jim, having broken the window, 
joined me with every evidence of pleasure. I 
saw plainly that I must make the best of a bad 
bargain for the night, and the next day, or 
as soon as possible, put crowbars on all the 
windows of the cabin. 

I retired, but not to sleep. Jim followed 
me into my cot, stretched himself full length 
on my pillow, and put his cold, clammy feet 
on my cheek. When I moved, Jim flopped. 
When I turned over, burying my face in the 
pillow, Jim sat on my head, scratching con- 
stantly. I tried to put a bit of the sheet be- 
tween us, but it was useless. Presently, Jim 
slept, as his snoring unmistakably proclaimed, 
but as soon as I moved, he woke and resent- 
fully pecked at my face. 

So I lay there, miserably enough, until 
dawn. Jim woke of his own accord, took 



Jim Crow 1 1 1 

away his feet, which were warm by this time, 
yawned, stretched himself, and demanded 
breakfast. I took my time about preparing 
the meal, but Jim made such a racket with his 
caws of complaint that I determined to be 
more prompt in future. 

That day I barred up all the windows, and 
at night, after two hours of strategy that would 
have done credit to the commanding general 
of an army, I found myself in the cabin, with 
doors and windows locked, and Jim on the 
outside. 

He tried all the windows, but my barriers 
held. It was suffocatingly close in the cabin, 
but I knew that the chimney would furnish 
a draft and keep me from being poisoned 
by the impure air. Then a terrible thought 
struck me — suppose Jim should come in by 
the chimney route, as Kitchi-Kitchi and her 
friends were wont to do, and, sooty though he 
was, insist upon sleeping with me ! 

This did not occur to him, however, or per- 
haps he knew a better way. He made night 
so unspeakably hideous with his loud and vo- 
ciferous calling, his vicious pecks at the glass, 



1 1 2 The Book of Clever Beasts 

and the beating of his wings against the door, 
that at last, in sheer desperation, I got up and 
let him in. 

I slept the sleep of utter exhaustion that 
night — with Jim's feet on my cheek. As the 
weeks went by, I got used to it, though it was 
never pleasant. We can get used to almost 
anything, if we have to, 

I tried to find consolation in Jim's cunning 
tricks, of which he had a great many. A Crow 
is about the most intelligent wild beast I have 
ever come across, and, after study, becomes 
fascinating. It added a pleasantly human 
element to my solitude in the wilderness, for 
Jim was as unexpected, as unreasonable, and 
as incomprehensible as a woman. 

When I planted my garden, he watched me, 
and afterward he dug up the seeds and ate 
them. By way of atonement, he brought me 
some crocus bulbs from somebody's else gar- 
den. I was never able to find out where they 
came from and so I could not return them. 

He made deep excavations into my potato 
hills and ate the eyes out of the potatoes, pass- 
ing by the Bugs, which I could never induce 



Jim Crow 113 

him to touch. He would eat the Worms I 
gathered to go fishing with, and afterward 
would caw repeatedly, with bated breath. 
Mosquitoes, Flies, Potato-Bugs — all these he 
disdained, but he would eat anything which he 
could eat without being of indirect use to any- 
body. I discovered later that after he had 
gorged himself with the eyes of the potatoes, 
so that he could not hold so much as another 
eyelash, he would keep on digging until he 
was exhausted, merely to make a nuisance of 
himself. 

I stretched a white cotton string across my 
dooryard, between two trees, and taught Jim 
to jump over it, turning a double somersault 
in mid-air. Some choice tidbit rewarded him 
for this, and he got so that whenever he was 
hungry, between meals, he would run up to an 
imaginary string, take the flying leap, turning 
the double somersault before he touched 
ground again, and walk up to me, cawing 
loudly with pleasure in his performance. I 
always praised him, and sometimes stroked 
his head or back, whereupon he would demand 
the tidbit, which was generally forthcoming. 



1 14 The Book of Clever Beasts 

Sometimes it was a bit of raw bacon, a small 
dish of pork and beans, or a cold pancake, 
liberally sweetened with molasses. 

On one of these occasions, Jim broke his leg. 
While turning the somersault he missed his 
calculation by a hair's-breadth, and caught a 
claw on the string, which happened to be a 
Httle heavier than usual. He fell heavily to 
the ground with a yell of pain which brought 
me instantly to his side, but he would not let 
me touch him. Whenever I reached forth my 
hand, he gave a cry of alarm which warned 
me very effectually to keep away. 

Half flying, half walking on the other foot, 
he made his way to the river bank, where he 
took some soft clay from the edge of the water 
and with his bill made a little mound of it. 
Then, by the same methods of locomotion, he 
went away a short distance and gathered some 
grass of a particularly tough variety. All 
the time he was seemingly oblivious of me, 
though I was close by and, as the reader may 
well imagine, watching him intently. 

Returning to the river bank with a liberal 
supply of the grass, he first washed the broken 



Jim Crow 115 

leg thoroughly in the stream. Then he 
smeared the broken place with soft clay, work- 
ing fibres of grass into it meanwhile, then 
more clay, grass, and so on in distinct layers 
until the enlargement was about the size of a 
butternut. All the time he was pale, but very 
brave. 

It took him fifteen minutes by my jewelled 
repeater to set the leg. Afterward, for ex- 
actly one hour, he sat under an overhanging 
shrub with the injured member stretched out 
in front of him. His eyes were closed but his 
face wore an expression of great sufTering. 
At the end of the hour, which must have been 
agony to him, he fluttered up into the nearest 
tree, and with great effort sawed off a small 
branch which had just the proper crotch. He 
stripped this of its leaves, put the crotch under 
his wing, and with this improvised crutch, 
went back to the cabin. 

He lay down on my pillow unrebuked, and 
I brought him a cup of water to moisten his 
parched lips. He gave me a thirsty peck, 
then drank eagerly. Poor Jim ! That night, 
and indeed many a night afterward, my cal- 



1 1 6 The Book of Clever Beasts 

loused cheek missed one of the firm, small feet 
to which it had become accustomed. 

He used the crutch constantly, and every 
day he examined his leg with an expression of 
deep personal concern upon his dark counte- 
nance. Its progress seemed to satisfy him 
and at the proper time he took off the clay 
cast. The leg seemed as good as ever, though 
a little stiff, but I could never get Jim to jump 
over the string again. He seemed afraid of it 
and shared the same fear regarding anything 
white. Waving my handkerchief at him would 
frequently drive him away from me for hours 
together, and thus I gained time to write, and 
to put down in my observation ledger priceless 
records, made on the spot, of the great and 
glorious panorama of wild life which was pass- 
ing under my gifted eyes. 

Naturally, I was proud of my pet. When I 
returned to the city, however, and resumed my 
researches in the library, I learned that this 
method of setting a fractured limb was well 
known among the Birds. One of the new 
books on Natural History described at great 
length the setting of a Woodcock's leg by the 




" I'ut the crutch under his wing, and with tliis improvised crutcli, went 
back to the cabin." 



Jim Crow n? 

same means, the operation having taken place 
under the writer's own eyes. The only differ- 
ence was that the Woodcock used no crutch. 
I learned, further, that hunters often shot 
Woodcock, Grouse, Snipe, and Quail who had 
been repaired in the same way. To many of 
these Birds remnants of the clay casts still 
clung ; others bore only slight evidences of 
the fracture, which, in knitting, became per- 
fectly smooth. 

Every one knows how a Chicken's leg is 
sometimes broken, and, in healing, is twisted 
to one side. This, of course, refers to very 
young Chickens. I have seldom had one on 
my own plate whose leg could have been 
broken by anything short of a butcher's 
cleaver. The legs of fliers and the wings of 
walkers are choice morsels, but of the legs of 
walkers and the wings of fliers, the less said 
the better, and the more polite when at the 
table. 

To return, not to our mutton, as the French 
have it, but to our Crow, as the politicians say. 

Jim had a great many friends among his own 
race, and after they learned not to be afraid of 



ii8 The Book of Clever Beasts 

me, they used to call upon him at stated inter- 
vals. Often I have gfone out in the morninof 
and found my dooryard black with Crows 
holding a caucus. Some Unnaturalists have it 
that every Crow is an independent cau-cus, 
but I am not prepared to make any positive 
statements on this point. 

It was by watching these assemblies that I 
learned the Crow language. Every student of 
Natural History admits that Crows have a way 
of talking to each other and making them- 
selves understood. It has remained for me, 
however, to tabulate these utterances in suit- 
able lists, and by the same method pursued by 
Champollion with the Rosetta Stone, together 
with the system of cipher-solving elucidated 
in The Gold Bug, arrive at the inner meaning 
of their language. 

A few keen-eyed Little Brothers of the 
Woods, working independently, have discov- 
ered with me that caw is only one syllable of a 
somewhat complicated speech. They often say 
ker-ker, ah-ak, cluck-cluck, haw-haw, and ha-ha, 
makinor in addition several other sounds which 
are difficult to describe adequately in print. 



Jim Crow 119 

I took the precaution to use a phonograph, 
and thus secure exact records. The entire 
subject, treated scientifically, and at the proper 
scientific length, will be found in my volume 
published last year, under the title : The Na- 
ture, Habits, and Langtmge of the Crow In- 
dians, as Seen by a Scientific Observer Cooped 
up by Them on Their Reservation : Together 
with Exhausting Notes Concerning Their 
Songs, Ballads, Dramas, Customs, and Crafts. 

My publishers thought the title was a little 
too long, but I pointed out to them that many 
scientific works have even longer titles, and 
that when anybody pays two dollars for a book, 
it is with the expectation of securing two 
dollars' worth of language. 

Not to weary the reader with details, and to 
interest the general public in the more expen- 
sive book, I transcribe below a few of the more 
prominent words of the Crow language. 

Caw — Has as many uses as the Latin verb 
fero, and the precise meaning depends largely 
upon the tone of utterance. In a loud, clear, 
cheerful tone, it means, as nearly as can be 
expressed : " Good morning, Carrie." 



I20 The Book of Clever Beasts 

Caw — Fortissimo, means : " Man. Might 
be dangerous. Keep sharp lookout." 

Caw-Caw — In sharp, imperious accents, 
means : " Man has gun. Fly the coop." 

Caw-Caw — In a tone of contempt, means : 
" Gun is only umbrella. Stay where you are." 

Haw — " Horse in off field very sick. Watch." 

Haw-Haw — "Donkey instead of horse. 
Would n't that jar you ? " 

Ker, naturally, means "dog." Ker-Ker 
means two dogs. Haw-Ker means travelling 
salesman or man practising music. 

Ha-Ha indicates laughter, as all through 
the brute creation. 

Cluck means Chicken, Cluck-Cluck two 
Chickens. Two Crows together indicate a 
Rooster. 

Ah-Ah shows deep astonishment, mingled 
with pain. 

Ker-Cluck, from its root derivation, would 
mean Dog-Chicken. In other words, a lower 
form of Chicken, something which is smaller 
and equally edible. Also, onomatopoetically, 
a Frog. 

Caw-Ker means the best thing of its kind, 



Jim Crow 121 

whatever it may be. Students of philology 
will note the resemblance to an Aryan word 
still common among the lower orders of Eng- 
lish-speaking peoples. 

Ah-Ker means a sore place. Example, a 
broken leg or aching tooth. 

It will be seen that the language is very 
condensed and in a few syllables may epitomise 
an entire conversation. For instance : 

^^ Caw. Caw-Caw. Haw. Ker-Ker. Haw- 
Haw. Cluck-Cluck. Caw-Ker." Freely trans- 
lated, this runs as follows : " Gdod morning ! 
How do you find yourself this morning? 
Don't get excited, that two-legged thing is 
only a Man with an umbrella. There is a sick 
Horse in yonder field that I have my weather 
eye on, also a dead Donkey. Two Dogs are 
watching, and there are a couple of nice 
Chickens that appear to be spring broilers, 
trotting peacefully around the farmyard. The 
Horse is a Donkey, too ; would n't that make 
you sick ? Nevertheless, those two Chickens 
are corkers and I intend to have them before 
my feathers turn white with old age and theirs 
fall out for the same reason." 



122 The Book of Clever Beasts 

From this brief instruction, the intelHgent 
reader will be able to translate the Crow lan- 
guage. Just here, perhaps, I ought to mention 
the fact that I gave Jim an anaesthetic one day 
and slit his tongue, hoping that he could speak 
English. Some of our words, as is well known, 
are tongue-twisters. Whether it was to spite 
me or not, I shall never know, but I record the 
painful fact that Jim never learned any English 
except my last name. Whenever I did any- 
thing that displeased him, he would shriek out 
" siTDOWN ! " in a loud, compelling tone that 
I invariably and instinctively obeyed. Then, 
with a merry laugh, he would flutter off over 
the trees to tell his friends about it. 

When a Crow sings, it reminds you of a cornet 
half full of molasses. They only sing when they 
are courting, which is extremely fortunate. If 
I were a lady Crow, wooed with song, I should 
take vows of eternal celibacy. They may not 
be saddest when they sing, but other people are. 

I shot one of them one day, when they were 
doing too much singing, and the rest of the 
company called an indignation meeting on the 
spot. Having decided that I was the criminal. 



Jim Crow 123 

they sentenced me to have my eyes pecked 
out and appointed six of their number as exe- 
cutioners. Happily, I had on my spectacles, 
and when they had broken and eaten the 
lenses, they were satisfied. That night six 
more Crows died in great agony from the eat- 
ing of broken glass. They did not molest me 
further, but buried their dead comrades with 
great pomp and ceremony. 

Very few observers have ever seen a Crow 
funeral, but it fell to my lot to be present at 
this one. It was a bright moonlight night and 
I crouched behind a stump in a pasture lot, 
partly screened by the undergrowth that had 
sprung up around it, and had an unobstructed 
view of the entire affair. 

Sometime during the day, a long, trans- 
verse trench had been dug and lined with 
leaves. The seven corpses, feet upward, were 
lying on burdock leaves at a distance of about 
seventeen feet from the trench. A long stem 
was left on each burdock leaf, and to it was 
tied a long, stout string which shone whitely 
in the moonlight, I did not know what it was 
for, then, but later I understood. 



124 The Book of Clever Beasts 

Seven of the oldest and most prominent 
Crows, at a given signal, advanced to the dead. 
Each one took the end of a string in his beak 
and stepped over it in such a way that the cord 
passed straight under his body. I noted with 
a thrill of pride that Jim was in the lead. 

The rest of the Crows were in tiers a little 
to the left. At another signal, Jim and his 
followers began to march, to a low mournful 
tune produced by the other Crows, swaying 
their bodies in time to it. In my note-book I 
hastily jotted it down. It went like this : 
** Caw-Caw, Caw-Caw, Cazv-Caw, Caw-Caw,'' 
the first syllable of each foot being heavily ac- 
cented. It was not until they reached the 
third measure, which, I noted, had eight feet 
instead of four, that it dawned upon me that 
they were marching to the solemn and beauti- 
fully appropriate measures of Poe's wonderful 
poem. The Raven. It was so touching that 
the tears blinded me, and when I could see 
again, the procession was well under way. 

Shall I ever forget it, I wonder — those 
stately marchers convoying their dead ? Each 
one of the seven Birds was drawing a large 



Jim Crow 125 

burdock leaf, on which lay the remains of his 
dead friend. When they reached the trench, 
the bodies were all laid in, in an orderly row, 
covered with burdock leaves and then with 
earth. 

The simple ceremony over, they dispersed, 
silently and solemnly, but it set me to thinking 
and wondering if, after all, man had any right 
to kill the lower animals for any reason what- 
soever. I was brought, also, to a new compre- 
hension of the law of compensation. I had 
lost a pair of spectacles, and, in return, I had 
speedily witnessed another spectacle which 
was indeed wonderful and which set me upon a 
lofty height, far above my fellow-observers. 

It was a day or two before Jim came back to 
me. He had a strand of black yarn tied around 
his left leof which he would not suffer me to 
touch, and which, at the end of the thirtieth 
day, he removed of his own accord. For a 
week or more he was sad, then he gradually 
chirked up and began to act more like himself. 
He ate Thrushes' eggs, tweaked wool off the 
backs of the farmers' Sheep, and stole count- 
less small articles out of my cabin. 



126 The Book of Clever Beasts 

I came upon his hoard one day in a hollow 
tree which had been struck by lightning and 
broken off about eight feet above the ground. 
He had pebbles, clam shells, strings, my dia- 
mond scarf-pin, a bit of the mica from the 
front door of my stove, two pieces of broken 
glass, a square of blue glass I had brought to 
observe an eclipse with, a blue-bottle F'ly, a 
piece of resin, some bits of bright coloured 
wool, the handle of a china cup, a cordial 
glass, a choice collection of white Rabbit fur, 
which he was evidently saving for his nest, 
and, vanity of vanities ! a triangular piece 
of broken looking-glass, which was carefully 
laid across the top of the collection. It was 
the sunlight playing upon this which led me to 
the spot. I took out my diamond pin and the 
cordial glass, leaving the other things undis- 
turbed, but the next time I investigated, there 
was nothing there. He had moved his treas- 
ures to some safer place. 

Jim Crow had peculiar notions about his 
eating, being especially fond of 'possum, sweet 
potatoes, watermelon, fried Chicken, corn 
bread, corn fritters, and molasses. Seeinc: 



Jim Crow 127 

that his tastes ran that way, I baked some 
Johnny-cake on purpose for him. He pecked 
at it poHtely, but truth compels me to record 
the fact that it was very hard — almost too 
difficult for solution. 

At length he took a large piece in his 
bill, having chiselled it away from the main 
formation, and flew away slowly. He could 
not go fast, for the bread was not light, save in 
colour. Wondering, and quickening my foot- 
steps to a run, I followed him to the river. 
He selected a place where the current was 
swift, hovered over it a moment, then dropped 
the bread squarely in. 

I was hurt — I do not deny it, but later de- 
velopments showed me that I had no reason 
for it and that Jim had sufficient cause for his 
action. Keeping his eye on the bread, which, 
to my surprise, floated, Jim flew down stream, 
cawing loudly. With nice calculation, as it 
afterward proved, he sat down on the bank at 
exactly the right place and waited. 

In a few minutes, the bread came ashore, 
soft and palatable. Jim ate it with great 
relish, then, seeing me peering at him through 



128 The Book of Clever Beasts 

the shrubbery, he distinctly laughed, and flew 
back home again. When I got there, he had 
soaked the rest of the bread in a pan of milk 
which I had left in an exposed position, and 
was finishing up with molasses. 

He did a great many things which at first 
puzzled me, but which I afterward understood. 
I had taken down his perch, which was merely 
a branch nailed across one corner of the cabin, 
thinking to get a fresh one the next time I 
went out. Days passed, and I forgot it, but 
Jim called my attention to it in rather a curious 
way. 

I had been fishing one afternoon, returning 
about five o'clock with a fine string of Fish 
which I intended to cook for supper. Jim lit 
on one of them and refused to budge. I 
picked him up and he pecked my hand so 
severely that I was glad to put him down. 
He let me take the other Fish without protest, 
but camped on this one until bedtime, caw- 
ing loudly at intervals of three minutes or 
less. When at last he flew in to take his 
accustomed place on my pillow, I picked up 
the Fish to see if I could solve the mystery, 



Jim Crow 129 

and, in an instant, my quick, active mind be- 
gan to work. The Fish was a Perch — the only 
one I had caught — and Jim was doing his best, 
in his poor weak way, to remind me of my 
shameful neglect. 

The brilliant Bird had his reward, and, that 
very night, before I slept, I fixed his new 
perch across his old corner of the cabin. Jim 
watched me, with something very like a smile 
upon his face, making sleepy caws of gratitude 
all the time I was at work. When I went to 
bed, he tickled my face playfully with his tail 
and caressed me with his beak, to show his 
appreciation. 

We slept that night as we always did, with 
Jim's feet high on my cheek. I did not mind 
it then, but long afterward, when I went back 
among the haunts of men, and discovered deep 
crow's feet around my eyes, I wished that I 
had broken him of the habit by any method, 
no matter how desperate. It added years to 
my age and made it practically impossible 
for me to get a position in a telegraph office. 
Fortunately age does not affect literature. 
After a man is dead, he may continue in the 



ijo The Book of Clever Beasts 

business and often rank higher than his Hving 
competitors. Mr. Plato and Mr. Shakespeare 
are still formidable rivals of the industrious 
knights and ladies of the pen. 

My knowledge of Jim's epicurean tastes 
came about in a strange way. I was pre- 
paring our simple repast one noon, when I 
felt the rush of wings over my head. Before 
I had time to look up, som^ething dropped 
with a splash into the pan of bacon I was fry- 
ing and then, from a distant branch, Jim 
laughed gleefully. 

He had dropped a young Rooster, which he 
had just killed, into my hot grease. He had 
made some attempt to take off the feathers 
but it was not successful, and I removed it, to 
Jim's great disgust. 

He talked so much and so long that I finally 
lost track of it, but I had the main idea. He 
had killed the Rooster not only for the fried 
Chicken, but to satisfy a personal grudge. I 
judged from Jim's remarks, that this young 
Rooster had crowed over him long enough 
and had come, by a swift vengeance, to an 
ignominious end. 



Jim Crow 131 

We had the Chicken the next day, fried, 
with bacon and corn fritters, and it was not 
half bad — rather less than a quarter, I should 
say, which was all I could expect, since I had 
no ice and was obliged to keep it over night in 
a warm climate. 

One other observer has found that Crows 
play games with each other, but he has not 
specified the games. I have fully tabulated 
these and have found strlkinof resemblances to 
the games of children. Personally, with my 
own eyes, I have seen a flock of Crows playing 
" Follow the Leader," " Puss in the Corner," 
" London Bridge," "Tag," "Prisoner's Base," 
and " Drop the Handkerchief." The handker- 
chief was a bit of white wool unwillingly con- 
tributed by some Sheep, a ball of hair from 
a Hare or Rabbit, or a compact cluster of 
feathers from someone who had been called 
down. 

Early in the Summer, Jim moulted. It was 
pathetic to see him going about without his 
clothing, and I made him a red flannel jacket, 
such as the kind ladies in Cranford made for 
the Cow who fell into the lime. The jacket 



132 The Book of Clever Beasts 

and a good hair tonic, rubbed in thoroughly 
about every other day, put him well in advance 
of the season, and long before the other Crows 
had their new clothes, Jim was strutting about 
in the full glory of his, as proud as a Peacock 
and fully as impertinent. He always cherished 
the red flannel jacket. It hung from his perch 
for a while, where I was not allowed to touch 
it, and then he flew off into the woods with 
it, to pack it away, I suppose, with his other 
treasures. 

It grieves me to the heart to write of the 
end of Jim, that brave, gay, mischievous Bird, 
who shared my bed and board for a Sum- 
mer, and then met the universal fate of the 
wild. The end of a wild animal is always a 
tragedy and the only way to avoid writing 
tragedy is either to stop long before you get 
through, or not to begin. I cannot stop be- 
fore I get through, on account of a habit I 
contracted when I was writing for the maga- 
zines at a cent a word, and, moreover, I need 
the royalty on this book. A big book can be 
sold for more than a little one, every time. 
If you don't believe me, go and price a 



Jim Crow 133 

dictionary. The cheaper books are merely a 
part of the dictionary arranged in another order. 

Hitherto, I have failed to mention the fact 
that Jim was married. I knew nothing of it 
until he was also a parent, and I never knew 
how much of a parent he was, for he was sin- 
gularly uncommunicative on the subject and 
his nest was upon an inaccessible height. He 
stole an empty bottle out of my cabin and kept 
it in a crotch of a tree near by, with the cork 
which belonged to it tied to the neck by a 
string. Jim was a cautious Bird. On nights 
when I left the pan of milk outdoors, Jim 
would not sleep with me. When I discovered 
this, I set myself to figure out the connection. 

I left the pan of milk in an open space in 
the yard one bright moonlight night, and, as I 
half expected, Jim refused to share my pillow. 
I went to bed as usual, but in a few minutes 
got up and watched him from a secluded 
position. 

He walked around the pan of milk a few 
times, cawing under his breath in an im- 
portant, businesslike way, then flew off for the 
bottle. He returned with it, and filled it from 



134 The Book of Clever Beasts 

the pan, using his beak for the purpose, and 
tiking the pan with his foot when the milk got 
shallow. 

When the bottle was full, he pounded in the 
cork, grasped it in his claws, and flew away 
with it towards his nest. I surmised then that 
Jim was so much of a parent that Mrs. Jim 
did not have milk enough for all the little 
ones, and the husband and father was com- 
pelled to forage for the balance. Deeply 
touched, I left a large can of malted milk 
tablets on the window-sill, open. Within two 
days, they were all gone. 

It was Hoot-Mon, the great Owl, who put 
an end to Jim. Between the Owls and the 
Crows there is lifelong enmity. An Owl will 
attack a Crow at nio;ht and a Crow will attack 
an Owl in the daytime. I knew Hoot-Mon, 
of course — every Little Brother of the Woods 
knows Hoot-Mon, — but an article on him had 
not as yet been ordered, and so I made no 
special study of him. 

It was my fault, too. After Jim was asleep, 
I put the pan of milk outside for fear it would 
sour. When he woke and missed it, he 



Jim Crow 135 

scratched my face violently. Trembling with 
rage, I put him out, saying, as I did so : "You 
miserable, low-down, black beast, I wish I 
might never see you again ! " 

Unexpectedly my wish was granted. In my 
dooryard, in the morning, when the blood-red 
sun rose out of the mists of dawn, I found poor 
Jim, torn and mangled and irretrievably dead, 
lying beside the empty milk-pan. 

He had been slain by Hoot-Mon, who, 
after eating as much as he could, had sailed 
away with beak and claws dripping, to wait 
for darkness and further feasting. 

Even if Jim had not been so very dead I 
could not have saved him, for, in the words of 
a rival Unnaturalist, "there are no hospitals 
for sick Crows." 

Poor Jim Crow ! Time has softened your 
misdemeanours with its kindly touch and my 
memory of you is a pleasant one ! 



HOOP-LA 

When you meet a Fox, there are nine 
surprises. Five of them are his and the other 
four are yours. You may be looking for him, 
but he is not looking for you ; consequently, he 
is more surprised than you are. 

The following Summer, when I went to my 
cabin, I found it occupied. By this time I 
should have been accustomed to such things, 
but, strangely enough, I was not. To make it 
worse, the new occupant was not one I could 
turn out, being a relation. He had been a 
distant relation hitherto, but was now a near 
one. 

Our family has intermarried a great deal 
with the descendants of European royalties, 
and Uncle Antonio was of the great and well- 
known family of the Csesars, who, if my read- 
ers will remember, used to rank high in Rome. 
The line of descent was somewhat blurred, it 

136 



Hoop-La 137 

is true, but Uncle had a Roman nose and was 
given to roaming about the country. 

By profession, he was a musician — one of 
those rarely talented people whose genius is 
infinitely above such minor details as tech- 
nique. Rubenstein, according to his bio- 
graphers, used to make bad mistakes in read- 
ing his own music, and nearly everyone who 
has played him has, at some time or other, fol- 
lowed in his gifted footsteps. 

Uncle was another Rubenstein, as regards 
the mistakes. His soul, lifted above all mun- 
dane things, soared to meet the thought of 
the composer, and his fingers stumbled over 
the keys. This would not have bothered 
some people, but Uncle was sensitive and it 
annoyed him, so at length he had an instru- 
ment especially made to suit his own needs. 

It was an organ of the regulation type, small 
and compact, yet with a glorious volume of tone 
that would have delighted Wagner. Connected 
with the interior by a wonderfully scientific 
system of levers, was the motive power. The 
superior form of the instrument made possible 
some changes in the manner of playing it. 



13^^ The Book of Clever Beasts 

Instead of pushing on the keys, in the or- 
dinary, common way, my Uncle's organ was 
played with a rotary sweep of the whole arm, 
the hand, meanwhile, firmly grasping the 
lever. This enabled him to put more ex- 
pression into the music. I would like to say 
right here that my Uncle's organ was invented 
long before the day of patent piano-players, 
and that we, as a family, have about decided 
to prosecute the makers of these cheap, clap- 
trap instruments, in behalf of Uncle Antonio. 

It was gratifying to see Uncle's face when 
he played. With all mechanical difficulties 
overcome, he was free to give his entire at- 
tention to the fine shadings and hidden mean- 
ings of the composition. It was pleasing, also, 
to note how close he came to the hearts of the 
people. Even the little children would come 
and stand around Uncle Antonio when he 
played upon his organ, and musicians in the 
neighbourhood, gnashing their teeth in jeal- 
ous rage, would close their windows to keep 
my Uncle's notable accomplishments from be- 
littling their own. It is ever thus. Upon 
my own trail have sprung up a score or more 



Hoop-La 139 

of writers on Natural History — but I must not 
say more, lest I be thought too personal. 

Uncle Antonio, also, was a lover of the 
wild animals. He had one pet, in particular, 
which meant much to him — a genuine Afri- 
can Monkey, imported at great expense and 
difficulty. He had taught the intelligent ani- 
mal a great many cunning tricks — in fact. 
Jocko could do almost everything but speak. 
Through Jocko I had first come to an un- 
derstanding of Uncle Antonio. There is an 
old saying to the effect that, in order to know 
a man, you must first meet his Dog, and then 
see them together. In the same way, you 
must have known Jocko in order to compre- 
hend my Uncle. 

I was within a quarter of a mile of my cabin, 
my pulses bounding with happy anticipation, 
when a low moan, which seemingly came from 
a broken heart, struck my ear. I paused and 
stood like a marble statue — a trick I had 
learned from my kindred of the wild. Then 
the curious sound was repeated. 

Stealthily, I made my way toward the cabin, 
but I was not yet so skilled in woodcraft that 



I40 The Book of Clever Beasts 

my feet made no noise. Before I reached the 
door, my Uncle came out, and a glance at his 
face showed me that he had met with a sfreat 
loss. 

Like other geniuses. Uncle was somewhat 
careless in his attire. As a family, we had 
often laboured with him on this point, but to 
no avail. The unfettered spirit of the great 
will express itself in outward semblance, and 
at length we gave it up. Uncle wore a pair of 
trousers which, at first sight, did not appear to 
be his, and a negligee shirt, wide open at the 
throat, like a poet's. A bright red handker- 
chief, carelessly knotted, took the place of 
a tie, and his coat was his velvet one, to which 
he had been strongly attached for many years. 
Small hoops of gold, similar to those worn by 
Venetian noblemen, hung from the pendant 
lobes of his musical ears. 

Seeing me, he eyed me for a moment in 
great astonishment. " Hella da dev ! " he ex- 
claimed. " What for you coma da here ? " 

I can never hope to describe, in English, 
the charm of my Uncle's foreign accent. 
Long years of residence in this country had 



Hoop-La 141 

not eradicated it, and his low, melodious voice, 
full of unexpected harmonies, gave a lyric 
quality to his conversation. 

" I am here," I returned, " because this is 
my cabin. I might ask the same question of 
you," I added, playfully. 

" Hella da dev ! " said Uncle once more. 
This quaint, foreign phrase, indicating a pleas- 
ant surprise, often appeared in his speech. 
" My father-in-law, he giva da coop to you ? 
It is astonish ! " 

** Yes," I sighed, " it is." Grandfather was 
one of those thrifty pioneers who held on to a 
cent until the Indian howled. 

Uncle sat down and wiped his forehead with 
the fancy, coloured handkerchief which was an 
heirloom in his family. This was quite in 
keeping with the situation, for I have often 
known the unexpected sight of a relative 
to produce cold perspiration on the skin of a 
sensitive, emotional person. 

" Listen," said Uncle, struggling to his feet. 
" I tella you. Here I come two, tree day 
back. Maka da gr-rand professional tour 
through ze back countree, where zees poor 



142 The Book of Clever Beasts 

pipple, zey haf no moosic at all. It ees 
pitiful." 

I nodded. Such generosity was like Uncle. 

" Getta da cent," he resumed, " getta da 
tree cent. Zees grateful pipple, what haf no 
moosic, zey nevaire giva da nick, no, nevaire ! 
Wis Jocko, zen, I meet zees place, where I 
stay for ze little res' away from ze unappre- 
ciatif pipple. An' here, what you zink ? Jocko 
haf been stole from me ! " Here his voice 
rose to an agonised shriek : " Jocko haf been 
stole I " 

His grief broke through the dam and over- 
flowed. The sight of a strong man's tears is 
always terrible, and I turned away until the 
first outburst subsided. 

Then I advanced to comfort the stricken 
man. " Perhaps, Uncle Antonio," I said, 
kindly, " Jocko ran away of his own accord." 

" Hella da dev ! " cried Uncle, clenching his 
hands. " What are zees pipple I haf been mar- 
ried to ! Jocko, da monk, run away ? Nevaire ! 
Listen. Tree year now, Jocko and I maka da 
professional tour together. Jocko getta da 
cent from da audience, bringa him to me. 



Hoop-La 143 

Smarta da monk — weara da asbestos glove, 
taka da warm cent also. Jocko run away ? 
Nevaire ! Jocko haf been stole!" 

After long consideration, I thought so, too. 
I knew very well that if any human being had 
stolen the Monkey, he would have been re- 
turned long before this. My memory of the 
animal was that he was rather troublesome, 
but of course I did not wish to say so, for 
fear of hurting my Uncle's feelings. 

Eliminating the human element from the 
proposition, there remained only one possible 
conclusion. Some animal had done it, in re- 
sponse to that merciless law of the wilderness, 
which bids the wood people seek and slay and 
devour ; the law of claw and tooth and fang, 
from which there is no appeal. 

Jocko had not been taken from his high 
perch — this left tramps and neighbours out of 
the question, also Coons and Owls. He had 
not been left partly eaten, so that Weasels, 
Pole-Cats, or Minks were not responsible. 
What animal could have taken Jocko away 
bodily ? My quick, active mind immediately 
answered : " A Fox ! " 



144 The Book of Clever Beasts 

I said nothing to Uncle Antonio of my sus- 
picion. In the morning, when I went down to 
the lake for my bath, I found a foxglove 
which surely had not been there the night be- 
fore. It was a mother, then, foraging for her 
young. I wondered how they liked Jocko. 
He was so disagreeable to me, personally, 
that he would certainly have disagreed with 
me, even if I had eaten him. 

The next day, my suspicions were confirmed 
in an unexpected manner. The ivy which 
grew around my door was pulled down and 
badly trampled upon. I remembered the old 
saying, then : " Little foxes spoil the vines." 
The mother, growing bolder, must have 
brought her young into my dooryard. 

When you are troubled by a mother Fox, 
you may know that her den is far away. She 
never draws attention to herself in her own 
neighbourhood. When you are not troubled 
by a mother Fox, you may know that one is 
near at hand. This great truth is familiar to 
every Little Brother of the Woods. 

One bright afternoon, later in the week, I 
took my field-glass and went to a lofty hill 



Hoop-La 145 

near by. I climbed to the summit and from 
that point of vantage surveyed the surround- 
ing country, looking for the den. I found it, 
at last, under an overhanging rock, far to the 
south. 

The mother Fox sat in the doorway with 
her sewing, making another glove, doubtless, 
to replace the one she had so strangely lost, 
while her little ones gambolled about her, I 
never saw more than three at any one time, 
and so I concluded that there were only three 
in the family. 

I felt wicked, spying upon this charming 
domestic picture, even though it was through 
my field-glass and I was so far away that they 
would never know they were observed. Here 
I was proved wrong, however. The weary 
seamstress laid her work aside and stood 
up, brushing the threads from her lap. She 
yawned, smoothed her back hair a bit, and was 
about to go inside, when she paused. 

With every sense alert, she leaned forward, 
shaded her eyes with her hand, and stared 
straight at me — the man with the field-glass 
on the summit of the hill so far away. I was 



146 The Book of Clever Beasts 

embarrassed, but I did not move. When she 
had satisfied her curiosity, she grinned at me 
and then, unmistakably, winked. 

She seemed to know that I was far different 
from that barbarous race of men who would 
hunt her and her babies with dopfs and euns. 
Her composure was so perfect, her intuition 
so swift, and her wink so suggestive of amiable 
deviltry, that I at once named her " Hoop- 
La," which is an Indian word signifying 
lady-like mischief, and so she remains in my 
annals to this day. 

We knew where each other lived, and we 
were friends — so much was already established. 
I felt sure now that Hoop-La would visit me 
when she knew I was at home, perhaps bring- 
ing her little ones with her, but the question 
quickly arose in my mind : how should I dis- 
pose of Uncle Antonio ? 

That night, as delicately as I could, I told 
him that I had enjoyed his brief stay with 
me very much and that I was sorry he must 

go- 

" Mus' go?" repeated Uncle, pricking up 

his ears, *' for w'y you say zis ? 1 haf no 



Hoop-La 147 

mentions made of ze departure — it is wis me 
you haf someone else maka da confuse." 

" Perhaps," I answered, with rare tact. " My 
dreams are sometimes very vivid." 

" I see," said Uncle Antonio, with a child- 
like smile upon his calm, high-bred face ; 
" you hitta da pipe." 

I did not enlighten him, for it is bad man- 
ners to contradict a guest. You must never 
insult people in your own house — always go to 
theirs. 

" I have come, dear Uncle," I continued, " to 
study Unnatural History. It is an absorbing 
pursuit, and I fear you will find me poor 
company " 

" No," returned Uncle Antonio, in his gentle, 
foreign way, " zat no maka da dif to me. I 
lika you mucha da bet when you say nossing — 
nossing 't all. Ze more you keepa da still, ze 
more your Oncle lofe you." 

With his fine comprehension, he had in- 
stantly penetrated to the heart of things. 
" Staya da here," he said, with touching dig- 
nity, " until Jocko maka da return trip. Jocko 
always bringa cent when he coma da back." 



148 The Book of Clever Beasts 

In some way, it reminded me of those stories 
of New England, so plentiful in our day and 
generation, and always so beautifully written, 
where somebody is always waiting for some- 
body else, who never comes. In those rare in- 
stances where the long wait is rewarded, the 
emotion of the lost one's arrival has always 
been attenuated into nothingness. In a remi- 
niscent mood, also, I mused upon an epigram 
my sister made, on the tenth anniversary of 
her wedding day. " Before marriage," she 
said, with a little choke in her voice, " a v/oman 
spends all her life waiting for her husband. 
After marriage, she spends three quarters of it 
in the same way." My brother-in-law, I may 
say, in explanation, was one of those people 
who make it the chief business of their lives to 
be late to everything. 

I left a note for Hoop-La under a boulder 
by the path which I felt sure she would take 
when she grew bolder and came to visit me. 
The next day, when I went to look for it, it 
was gone, and I was pleased to think she had 
it. At supper, however, Uncle Antonio pro- 
duced it from the secret recesses of his attire. 



Hoop-La 149 

" I getta da dead next to you," he said, with 
a merry laugh. "You gotta da sweetheart 
here. Zat is ze reason w'y you maka da chase 
of your poor old Oncle out. Me no leava da 
monk." 

The ensuing quarter of an hour was very 
unpleasant for me, though at length I con- 
vinced him that I had nothing to do with the 
note. He would not accept my word until I 
wrote a page or so for him, in another hand. 
I was foxy enough to learn to write three or 
four different hands at school and it has come 
in handy early and often since. 

I soon saw, however, that I should not be 
troubled much with Uncle Antonio. Every 
day he took long, cross-country tramps, " to 
hnda da monk," as he pathetically said, and 
often having disagreements with cross country 
tramps whom he met on the road. But he 
did not mind, and his faith and hope were ab- 
solutely without limit. 

Hoop-La came one day when he was ab- 
sent. I first felt her bright eyes upon me 
from a thicket close at hand, then I saw her 
tawny orange-coloured fur, and presently she 



150 The Book of Clever Beasts 

approached, walking on her hind legs, with her 
magnificent tail thrown over one arm. Her 
tail was her principal adornment ; her paws 
were her chief features. She was doing the 
kangaroo walk to perfection, and when I went 
in and brought out a paper of cookies she did 
the cake walk also. 

She sat near me for some time, contemplat- 
ing me gravely, She could not speak my lan- 
guage and I did not know hers, nevertheless 
a perfect understanding was soon in operation 
between us, A Fox looks beyond your eyes 
to your inner thought, which is not especially 
difficult, for the thought-tank, as students of 
physiology all know, is the padding around 
the optic nerve. She had not brought her 
fancy work — I suppose she did not feel that 
she knew me well enough, or else, like many 
human ladies, she did not fancy work. 

At all events, it was a very formal call. At 
the close of it, she bowed and went away with 
great dignity. Had I followed her I would 
have seen capers, tail-chasing, quick turns, 
high kicks, and flying jumps, then a mad gal- 
lop home, but I did not know this until I got 



Hoop-La 151 

back to the city and read it in a book. Some 
of the Little Brothers of the Woods have seen 
a great deal that I have unaccountably missed, 
but because they have been more fortunate 
than I have, it does not necessarily follow that 
they have lied about it. 

I never saw Hoop-La's husband, and con- 
cluded, therefore, that she was a widow. Her 
ways were sufficiently winning to justify my 
hypothesis, and she was as clever as any of 
them. 

One time, she was unjustly suspected of 
stealing some Chickens, and the Hounds were 
set upon her trail. I had gone to the hill I 
have spoken of before, to add up my accounts 
on the summit, and I saw them, far in the dis- 
tance, headed straight for the open field just 
below me, where Hoop-La was fixing up their 
day's work for them. 

First, she ran all around the field three 
times, then took a long jump toward the cen- 
tre, and wove herself in and out in a circle. 
Then she took another jump and wove more 
circles, and so on, for the better part of an 
hour. All the time, the deep bellowing of the 



152 The Book of Clever Beasts 

Hounds came nearer, but Hoop-La did not 
seem to be at all alarmed. It was not until 
the leader of the pack struck the field and 
caught the scent that she took any notice of 
them at all. 

By a series of swift and wonderfully clever 
sorties, which included high jumps and fre- 
quent wetting of her feet in the brook, she 
gained the hill. Then she came up beside me, 
taking care, however, to keep on a small patch 
of orange-coloured grass which exactly matched 
her coat. The wonder of it was not that the 
grass should match Hoop-La, but that she 
should know that it did. 

Down below, in the field, the hunt went on. 
There must have been five hundred Dogs 
there, or else they ran so fast that they looked 
like more. The pasture seemed to be one 
solid Dog, circling in and out, jumping, leap- 
ing, and weaving strange designs upon the 
green sod below. 

Suddenly the significance burst upon me. 
With her own clever body, sentient and alive 
from nose to tip of tail, Hoop-La had made a 
quilt pattern, and the Dogs were following it ' 



Hoop-La 153 

It was like a game of living chess, such as the 
barbarian kings used to play before the Re- 
publican party got into power. 

Have any of my readers ever seen a Fox 
laugh ? Hoop-La sat beside me, with her 
hands on her sides, rocking and swaying in a 
spasm of merriment. Salt tears of joy rolled 
down her cheeks and made little rivulets 
through her fur. By looking at these narrow 
lines, I perceived, for the first time, the won- 
derful pinky fairness of her complexion. 

Meanwhile the Dogs wound in and out on 
the trail, the pattern becoming more and 
more distinct every minute. When there was 
a space in the swiftly moving mass, I could see 
deep scars upon the surface of the field, and 
this seemed to amuse Hoop-La all the more. 
She laughed until I was afraid her hysterics 
would bring the Dogs upon us. I was sure 
she could take care of herself, but I was not 
anxious to have my own footsteps dogged by 
that pastureful of howling fiends. 

One by one, the Dogs dropped out. Some 
of them lay flat on their backs, utterly exhaust- 
ed, and breathing like so many locomotives. 



154 The Book of Clever Beasts 

Enough short pants were made in that field 
that afternoon to clothe the inmates of all the 
orphan asylums in North America, but Mother 
Nature is ever too generous with her material 
— in spots. 

Hoop-La was still laughing and it got worse 
every minute. Remembering her sex and 
thinking to divert^ her, I took a handful of 
coins out of my pocket and laid them on the 
grass beside her. She pawed them over with- 
out interest for a moment or two, then her 
eye lit upon a penny which was evidently 
fresh from the mint. 

She played with it for a time, enjoying the 
glint of the sun on the shining copper, then 
her face suddenly illumined with a bright idea. 
Before I realised what she was going to do, 
she took it in her mouth, walked over to the 
edge of the hill, sat down, and with a precision 
of aim which was unusual in her sex, threw it 
straight down into the pasture. 

I was aghast. Hoop-La had deliberately 
given the Dogs a new scent ! 

Still, they received it without enthusiasm 
and she seemed very much disappointed. I 




"Hoop- La sat beside me, with licr hands on lier sides, rocking and 
swaying in a spasm of merriment." 



Hoop-La 155 

knew one thing that she did not ; namely, that 
Dogs are instinctively afraid of coppers. 

When the bafifled animals went home, Hoop- 
La descended into the field and retrieved her 
financial losses. I suppose she took the coin 
home to her children, and after familiarising 
tliem with its outward appearance, she told 
them : *' That is man-scent T 

A week or so after that, when I sat upon 
the summit of the hill, with my field-glass 
fixed upon the roomy piazzas of her home, it 
fell to my good-fortune to see her teaching 
her little ones. She was a tender mother, but 
a severe task-mistress, and plied the rod liber- 
ally when they made mistakes. 

She taught them how to play dead, how 
to manage their trails so the Dogs could not 
step on them, how to pick a Squirrel's teeth 
and bones, how to catch Field Mice with- 
out a trap, how to hunt Mares' nests, how 
to play Leap Frog, and how to sing the 
woodland spring song. I have jotted down 
the words : 

" Tinkety tank, tinkety tink, 
Haunt of the Weasel and haunt of the Mink; 



1 56 The Book of Clever Beasts 

Tinkety tank, tinkety tink, 

Come little Foxes, come here and drink." 

This is the water song of the Fox family 
and corresponds to a college yell. Many a 
night, you can hear it over the hillsides, in 
deep, loud-mouthed bays that brook no delay 
and harbour a sinister meaning. 

Among other things, she taught them these 
proverbs : 

" Never sleep on your track until you have 
curled it up so much that it makes a soft 
bed. 

" When your leader fails you, shufifle the 
pack for a new deal and turn up another 
trump. 

" Money may not be your best friend, but 
it is the quickest to act in time of trouble. 
Therefore, trust your scent. 

" Dried up water never runs. 

" Do not sleep in the river-bed when the 
springs that used to be there have rusted 
away. 

" Never travel by daylight if you can help 
it. Take the night express and be there in 
the morning. 



Hoop-La 157 

" If you don't know what it is, bring it to 
Mamma. She will put you on. 

" Never hunt for Hens in a boys' college, 
nor for Mice in a female seminary. 

" A gasolene automobile overpowers every- 
thing but a Skunk. 

" Don't sit on the paint. 

" If you climb telegraph poles to do the 
tight-rope act on the wires, don't eat the 
currents. 

*' Take a yellow journal with you when you are 
going where there is no orange-coloured grass. 

" If you can't smell anything, the wind is 
wrong, and other people are smelling you. 
Turn around and it will be all right. 

" Never feel ashamed of your clothes. Fox 
fur may not be Sealskin, but it is expensive 
enough to be decent. 

" Never throw an Indian off the scent. It 
is against the coin-mutilation law. 

" Try to use other people's experience and 
profit by bad example. Pattern after the 
Indians, who never moccasin. 

" Let the Snakes alone ; fur boas do not 
grow wild. 



158 The Book of Clever Beasts 

" When you drop your Rabbit's foot, look 
out for falling hair." 

The instruction was interrupted by a strange 
animal flopping wildly about in front of the 
den, as though attached to a chain. It was 
smaller than Hoop-La and of a different 
colour. It had bright red on its head and 
body, and, even at that distance, I could see 
a tail longr enough to make a three-volume 
novel. Then my heart gave a violent lunge 
into my ribs. Unquestionably, it was Jocko ! 

I put the glass down, my hands trembling. 
Why had Hoop- La monkeyed with Uncle An- 
tonio's pet? And what would Uncle Antonio 
do if he should hit upon the truth ? Would 
he not shoot Hoop-La and all her children 
and make a Winter coat for Jocko out of 
their complexions ? Echo answered me — he 
would. 

My quick, active mind was partially para- 
lysed. The cogs were rusty and the chains of 
thought creaked over them without producing 
any power. What should I do ? 

Should I remain silent, while my blood-rela- 
tion ate his heart out and all the provisions I 



Hoop-La 159 

could buy ? Should I listen, night after night, 
to the heartrending strains of Bedelia, syn- 
copated by a strong man's sobs ? Every 
night, when playing that painful melody, Uncle 
was overcome at the line : " I 've made up my 
mind to steal you." " That is it," he would 
shriek, "my Jocko haf been stole!" By a 
wonderful modulation, too swift for the or- 
dinary ear to perceive, Uncle Antonio always 
changed off to Cotild Ye Co7iie Back to Me, 
Douglas, and played it twice before he ceased. 

Obviously, it was up to me. In my hands 
were the tangled threads of Fate, which I and 
I alone could unkink. 

I did not sleep for three nights. On the 
fourth day, I walked out a little way from 
the cabin — perhaps eight or ten miles. In 
the woods I met Hoop-La under strange cir- 
cumstances. 

She was walking on her hind legs, carefully 
holding her magnificent tail away from the dust 
and the cockleburrs. She may have believed 
in the re-incarnation theory, but it was evident 
that she did not care to become even a little 
burred. Upon her arm was an old Fox, with 



i6o The Book of Clever Beasts 

a scarred face, blind and helpless, as I soon 
perceived. He was bald in many places, had 
false teeth in both jaws, and his tail had only 
one new sprout at the end of it. He paid no 
attention whatever to me, and I quickly sur- 
mised that he had also lost the sense of 
hearing. 

I knit my brows in deep thought, then 
instantly unravelled them. The express thun- 
dered around the bend, and, in a flash, I under- 
stood. He was some poor old foxy grandpa, 
totally deaf, whom Hoop- La had found walking 
upon the railroad track and was taking home. 
It gave me a new insight into her kind heart, 
and I was sure that if I could only make her un- 
derstand how Uncle Antonio and I felt about 
Jocko, she would release him, even though the 
children wanted to play with him. 

But to make her understand ? Ah, measure- 
less, impassable gulf that lies between us and 
our kindred of the wild ! 

Several days later I visited the den. I could 
hear Jocko flopping about on his chain in the 
far corner, and hear the little Foxes screaming 
with delight. I did not think Hoop-La was at 



Hoop-La i6i 

home, and was about to crawl in and kidnap 
Jocko. Just then, as if reading my thought, 
she came out. 

She looked at me disdainfully — contemptu- 
ously, I thought. Then she went back, return- 
ing almost immediately with an old, worn-out 
rubber, which she expressively dropped at my 
feet. I crept away in shame, fully understand- 
ing her point of view. 

Eventually, the thing was solved, and in a 
strange manner. It came about in this way. 

Uncle Antonio, like many foreign noblemen, 
carried with him a miniature cooking outfit 
and some imported ingredients. He had said 
nothing about these, being content to subsist 
entirely upon my humbler fare, but one day, 
when I was about to start for the village, he 
came to me. 

" You goa da town ? " he asked. 

I nodded. 

" Looka da here," pleaded Uncle Antonio. 
" You bringa sixa da pork chop, two lar-rge 
can da tomat, one onion lika your head." 

" What for ? " I asked, suspiciously. 

Uncle Antonio's face became radiant. 



i62 The Book of Clever Beasts 

" Hist ! " he repHed, in a stage whisper. " Me 
cooka da spaghett ! Nica da spaghett ! " 

For the first time in my Hfe, I felt deep and 
abiding love for my Uncle. Needless to say, 
I hastened back with the required articles. 

In a kettle, over the fire, Uncle Antonio 
fried the pork chops and the onion to a deep 
seal brown, then added the contents of both 
cans of tomatoes. He salted the mixture lib- 
erally, then from his pack brought two large 
cloves of garlic and a bottle of paprika. He 
sliced the garlic in, sprinkled it with the pap- 
rika, and, by some means known only to 
himself, decreased the heat. 

All day the appetising compound simmered. 
At night. Uncle Antonio pressed the entire 
mixture through a sieve that he had in his kit, 
and set it aside. Then he prepared a kettle 
of boiling water, with a tablespoonful of salt in 
it, and from the inside of his organ took out a 
great bundle of spaghetti, the tubes being very 
small, and something over a yard and a half 
long. 

"Nica da spaghett," crooned Uncle, strok- 
ing it fondly. " Maka da wonderful moosic ! " 



Hoop-La 163 

He boiled it twenty minutes by my jewelled 
repeater, drained it, put some on my plate, 
poured a liberal quantity of the sauce over it, 
and passed me a bottle of grated cheese, 
which, until now, he had kept in his hat. 

I tasted of it with some misgivings, but 
instantly I was Uncle's. Through my system 
vibrated a single joyous thought — I had 
watched him and I knew how to do it. 

I must have eaten nearly a peck of it. 
There was some left, and when I went to bed 
I put it outside, for fear I should get up and 
eat it in the night. 

In the morning I crept out, hungrily, think- 
ing to steal a march upon Uncle, but, to my 
astonishment, the plate looked as if it had been 
washed, and all the sauce was gone ! 

I made a loud exclamation of pained sur- 
prise, and Uncle Antonio came out, fully 
dressed. He slept in his clothes to save time 
and trouble. " Oh," he shrieked, tearing his 
hair, " eet ees Jocko! Jocko haf been here 
in ze night w'ile I sleep ! Jocko lova da 
spaghett ! He always washa da plate for me ! " 

He tore around like a madman, looking for 



1 64 The Book of Clever Beasts 

his pet, but of course he found nothing. I 
saw something, but wisely held my tongue 
about it. A box of Hoop-La's footprints had 
been left on the doorstep and there was a 
bundle of her tracks a little farther on in the 
wood. 

Like Minerva from the head of Jove, a 
great scheme presented itself, all ready to be 
worked out. That afternoon, I climbed to my 
observatory, and with my powerful field-glass 
saw Hoop-La on the veranda of her home, 
grinning, licking her chops, and occasionally 
patting her stomach with an air of satisfaction. 

That night I said to my esteemed relation : 
" Uncle Antonio, if you will fix up another 
pail of that spaghetti, borrow a Horse, and 
trust me implicitly, I think I can restore Jocko 
to your empty arms." 

He looked at me suspiciously, then assailed 
me with a torrent of questions, to all of which 
I made no reply. He spent the night pre- 
paring more sauce, and at dawn he set out 
for the nearest village, twenty-one and a half 
miles distant, to borrow a Horse. 

About noon, he rode in, put up the Horse 



Hoop-La 165 

in the bridle chamber attached to the premises, 
and cooked a savoury mess of spaghetti. My 
mouth watered, but I dared not hesitate. I 
mounted, took the plate, and rode off toward 
Hoop-La's den. 

As I had hoped, she was at home. I tied 
the plunging steed, whose mouth was dripping 
and who regarded the spaghetti yearningly, 
and advanced to the front piazza. 

Sniffing hungrily, she came out, and I heard 
the frenzied clankings of Jocko's chain. 
" Come, Hoop-La," I said, though my voice 
trembled. She called her children, and in a 
moment they were all eating greedily. 

As I had planned, poor, imprisoned Jocko 
came out to the end of his chain. It did not 
permit him to go farther than a foot from the 
entrance, but that was sufficient for my pur- 
pose. Quick as a flash, I unfastened the chain 
from his collar, took the thoroughly frightened 
animal in my arms, and ran for dear life to the 
Horse. 

I was none too soon. With an angry snarl, 
Hoop-La followed me, but she had already 
eaten too heartily to do her best work on the 



i66 The Book of Clever Beasts 

rough track which lay ahead of us. She clung 
to the Horse's tail, growling and snarling in 
baffled rage, her claws and teeth urging the 
trembling steed into a foaming gallop. 

My hat flew off and many of my most 
valuable ideas blew out through my ears, 
never to return, but Jocko, terrorised into 
death-like stillness, lay quietly inside my coat. 

Somehow or other, I kept my seat, and thus 
we dashed into Uncle Antonio's presence. 
When she saw the strange man, Hoop-La let 
go and slunk back into the woods, defeated 
and ashamed. 

''Jocko !'' screamed Uncle, in a passion of 
joy, as his long-lost pet flew into his arms. 
" Bambino / Cara mia ! " Fine family feeling 
compels me to draw a veil over that affecting 
reunion. 

Just at sunset, they left me, marching south- 
ward. Uncle's blissful state of mind expressing 
itself in exultant strains from his organ. He 
read meanings into the music that the com- 
poser, in his wildest moments, could never 
have hoped to convey. It is a peculiarity of 
travelling musical geniuses, like my Uncle, 



Hoop~La 167 

that they always begin a journey at sunset, 
when the day goes. 

Growing ever fainter, the compelHng strains 
of triumph broke upon my Hstening ears, 
fortunately without doing any damage. For- 
tissimo, forte, decrescendo, piano, diminuendo, 
pianissimo, peace — thus the clear command- 
ing notes died into silence, winding in a 
thread of silver melody around the base of 
the distant hill. 

Niofht fell, but I dodo^ed and it did not hit 
me. The quiet sweetness of the woods was 
like a plaster on a sore place, and I enjoyed it 
to the full. My conscience reproached me 
somewhat for betraying the trust the tawny 
mother had reposed in me, and I felt, intu- 
itively, that I should never see her again. 

I never did, though I am always expecting 
to meet her in the woods, and I never hear a 
fatix pas without thinking it maybe Hoop-La 
or one of her children. 



JENNY RAGTAIL 

After my Uncle went away, the silence be- 
gan to rasp on my nerves ; it was so different 
from what I had been accustomed to. I had 
that curious, attenuated nervousness which 
is always expecting something unpleasant to 
happen. This was especially acute along about 
seven in the evening, at which time my talented 
relative was wont to begin his regular recital 
upon the instrument he so thoroughly under- 
stood. 

From seven to eleven, the air would be full 
of faint, mysterious echoes which had no 
discernible source. Fragmentary, disorgan- 
ised phrases from Bedelia, Could Ye Come 
Back to Me, Douglas, and the beautiful, though 
familiar melodies from // Trovatore, came in 
from the woods around me and beat against 
the walls of my cabin. It seemed as though 
some of Uncle's music had been canned and 

l6S 



Jenny Ragtail 169 

the cans were exploding. The effect was un- 
canny, to say the least. 

As time went on, it became evident that I 
must do something desperate, or else become 
the star inmate of a padded cell. Those who do 
not believe in personal influence should remain 
alone for a time in a place which an uninvited 
relation has regretfully left. With nerves and 
senses sharpened by the ordeal through which 
they have recently passed, they will hear and 
feel some queer things, or I miss my guess. 

At the crisis of my unhappy condition, 
I remembered the old saying, " Like cures 
like," and I clutched at it as a drowning man 
grabs the proverbial straw. " The hair of a 
dog will cure the bite," continued my inner 
consciousness. 

But what could I do that would even re- 
motely approach the things that Uncle did? 
I had no musical gifts, and an organ like his 
was out of the question for about eleven 
hundred and eighty-nine different reasons. 
I must have something, however ; something 
distinctively Italian. Like lightning the solution 
of my problem burst upon me. A concertina ! 



1 70 The Book of Clever Beasts 

Within a week I had procured a fine one, 
also an instruction book. The new study 
became so absorbing that I forgot all about 
Unnatural History, for the time being. It 
was not long before I could play Down on 
the Suwance River, The Last Rose of Summer, 
and Home, Sweet Home. The instrument 
had a wonderfully fine tone, and, for the first 
time, I began to understand the wild, universal 
passion to learn music. 

I discovered that the pleasure is mainly 
selfish, the joy being principally that of the 
performer. The one who plays, or rather 
works, an instrument of any sort, can never 
give others as much pleasure as he gives him- 
self. With the voice, the principle is the same, 
though greatly intensified. Conversation exem- 
plifies it in lesser degree, though not much less. 
I remembered that when I was very young, a 
number of other rising citizens used to battle 
with me for the control of the harmonica which 
I found in my infantile sock one radiant Christ- 
mas morning. " The child is father of the 
man," said Wordsworth, though how much his 
word 's worth it is not for me to say. 



Jenny Ragtail 171 

As I played, one day, I felt bright eyes 
upon me, I was taking deep accordion plaits 
in the silence, but I was not wholly oblivious 
to my surroundings. " Music hath charms to 
soothe the savage breast " — how wonderfully 
true that is ! Already I looked forward to 
the time when all the wood-folk should come 
and stand around me, open-mouthed and rapt, 
while I worked my concertina. 

Every day, when I began to practise my 
technical exercises, I felt the bright eyes. 
When an eye is laid on a Little Brother of the 
Woods, he can feel it all through his system. 
I was not sufficiently interested, however, to 
investio^ate. 

One bright morning, when I was practising 
that beautiful song beginning : *' Knock, and 
the world knocks with you ; boost, and you 
boost alone," I heard a corroborative thump 
from the woods. 

It was really a tremendous noise and 
seemed as though it must have been made by 
a Moose, an Elephant, or some animal equally 
large. At brief intervals the sound was re- 
peated and at last I concluded that someone 



1 72 The Book of Clever Beasts 

in my immediate neighbourhood was giving a 
pound party. 

The next day, according to the entries 
in my observation ledger, I had filled the 
concertina w^ith cooky crumbs and had begun 
to play a cake-walk, adding a little milk to 
the interior occasionally to produce a more 
liquid tone. From the distant shrubbery, 
from the same quarter where I had repeatedly 
felt the bright eyes, I heard a thump-thump- 
thump, perfectly metrical, and in time with 
my merry tune. It was accompanied by a 
soft patter, seemingly from very small hands. 
With a sudden reversion to my former interests 
I threw the concertina aside, and dashed into 
the forest. 

There, beneath a bush, were Jenny Ragtail 
and her son, Chee-Wee, still patting and 
thumping in the metre of the cake-walk and 
not knowing that the music had stopped. It 
takes sound some time to travel and I have 
always been very quick on my feet. 

As soon as they saw me, they vanished. 

When I returned to my instrument, it refused 
to work, and upon taking it apart, I discovered 



Jenny Ragtail 173 

that the milk had been churned to butter. I 
was obHged to scrape the entire mechanism 
before I could play any more, but there was a 
smile of satisfaction upon my face as I did so. 
I had always known that the long ears of 
Rabbits served some good purpose in the 
wise economy of creation, and now I perceived 
that they were ears for music. A Donkey's 
telephonic apparatus is constructed upon much 
the same plan, and everyone knows how he 
can sing. 

I have not space to describe the gradual 
manner in which my acquaintance with Jenny 
Ragtail progressed, nor how I learned all that 
I know about Rabbits and their language. 
Suffice it to say i\.a.t L..fore many weeks had 
passed by, she and Chee-Wee would scamper 
into my presence as soon as I began the first 
notes of the cake-walk, and would sit very 
close to me as I extracted the melody from the 
instrument, patting and thumping at the ac- 
cented notes. 

I remembered reading in my well-thumbed 
copy of C/nc/e Remus that " Bre'r Rabbit 
was always a master hand to pat a tune," but 



1 74 The Book of Clever Beasts 

I never wholly believed it until I saw it done. 
Little Brothers of the Woods are sometimes 
very incredulous of the observations of others, 
as my readers have doubtless noted. 

In the remainder of this scientific treatise, 
though I may translate freely and frequently 
from Rabbit into English, I shall say nothing 
that the Rabbits did not say. Accuracy has 
always been a strong point with me — in fact, I 
am rabid upon it. 

Jenny Ragtail was a large, well-shaped 
brown Rabbit. Her body tapered slightly in 
at the waist line, and this led me to surmise 
that in the privacy of her chamber she wore 
some sort of a corset. Her finale was a glor- 
iously beautiful tuft of white Rabbit fur, which 
led Chee-Wee in and out of the mazes of the 
forest trails like a friendly beacon. Her eyes 
were large and brown and motherly, and pro- 
jected so far from her kind, matronly counte- 
nance, that she could see behind her, in the 
same manner that the ever-feminine of our own 
species can see around a corner or through a 
stone wall. Jenny's intuition was marvellous. 

Chee-Wee was almost infinitesimal in size. 



Jenny Ragtail 175 

He looked like a baby Rat and was once taken 
for one by a lady book agent, with a very 
dignified carriage, who penetrated the wilder- 
ness as far as my hermitage. I never knew 
whose Nature Library she was canvassing for, 
because, at the first glimpse of Chee-Wee, she 
took the brakes off her carriage and fled in- 
to the next county. Those who think that 
women cannot run should have seen this book 
agent. 

Chee-Wee was not many weeks old, but 
already he was beginning to study in the 
school his mother taught. There are schools 
of Rabbits, just as there are schools of Fish, 
though it is not so generally known. They 
learn by whisker touching, the sense of smell, 
telegraphy with the hind feet, and by another 
method which I shall explain later. 

The first thing Jenny taught Chee-Wee was 
to play dead. One thump means " freeze." 
Two thumps mean "follow me." Three 
thumps mean " danger — run for dear life," and 
four thumps mean " come." The politicians 
who have their ears to the ground are many 
times only Unnaturalists in disguise, listening 



i;^ The Book of Clever Beasts 

for Rabbit thumps. Then, when a valuable 
franchise comes along, they are in a position 
to grab it. 

One day Chee-Wee had a dreadful adven- 
ture. He was in the woods near my cabin and 
Jenny was out foraging. She had put him in 
a crtche under the roots of a pine and told 
him not to move a muscle until she came. A 
terrible serpent, with a very bright head, was 
close to Chee-Wee ; a peculiar, striped serpent 
that made him stiff with fright. He had read 
in his little primer about garter snakes, and in 
his childish ignorance supposed this was one. 
He was scared almost to death, but he had 
enough presence of mind to thump for his 
mother, who instantly left her shopping tour 
and hastened to his side. 

He was partially right, though it was not 
a Snake at all and had been dropped by the 
lady book agent in her mad flight through 
the forest, but, none the less, Chee-Wee was 
soundly spanked for turning in a 4:11 alarm 
for nothing more than a smoking chimney, 
while his mother was engaged in chasing up a 
bargain sale. 



Jenny Ragtail 177 

Those who have not Hved near enough to 
the animals to know what they are talking 
about will think I have made Chee-Wee and 
his mother too human, but that little band of 
choice spirits who study the encyclopedias all 
Winter and get out a Nature Book apiece 
every Spring, will know that I have not so 
abased my high calling as to be inaccurate in 
even the smallest detail. 

A Rabbit's best friend is his brier patch and 
he is seldom more than eicrht and one half 
hops away from it. Jenny Ragtail used to 
carry a copy of that beautiful poem, Brier 
Rose, in her reticule, so that she would al- 
ways have a place of refuge in time of trouble. 
I know this, because I wrote the piece out for 
her myself from my book of Parlour Elocution. 

Jenny was devoted to Chee-Wee. She loved 
him nineteen times as hard as she could have 
done if his eighteen little brothers and sisters, 
who were published simultaneously, had not 
died of a fever before they were a week old. 
This was an epidemic which raged fiercely 
among the Squirrels and nearly spoiled all the 
Rabbit stew. He got nineteen times as much 



178 The Book of Clever Beasts 

schoolintr and learned nineteen times as much 
as he could otherwise have done. This ac- 
counts for anything that may seem unusually 
intellieent in the future conduct of Chee-Wee. 

First, she taught him geography. With a 
toothpick I gave her, she drew out a singularly 
accurate relief map of the surrounding country 
in the sand at my door. I still have the tooth- 
pick and a small bottle of the sand, which I 
kept to convince the doubting ones. She was 
a week or more in making it, and I fear that 
Chee-Wee would have been very restless, had 
it not been for the little silvery minnow in a 
glass of water at Jenny's elbow, which inter- 
ested him greatly. She kept it there in order 
that her map might be drawn to scale. 

When the map was finished, I was allowed 
to inspect it, and it was really wonderful, 
though it was not at all the kind of a map 
that I should have drawn. She had marked 
the brier patches, the dens of Woodchucks 
and Weasels, the kennel of a distant farmer's 
Hound, and a log in the middle of a pond. 
This latter place was marked by a small piece 
of flag-root which bore the picture of a 



Jenny Ragtail 179 

Rabbit's hind foot, and meant " Last Stand." 
It was well named, for no animal but a loan 
shark could have found them there. 

She taught him to comb his hair, brush his 
teeth, wash his face, paying special attention 
to his ears, and to curl his tail up over his 
back, like a Squirrel. It was the merest stub 
of a tail and Chee-Wee got vertigo once from 
chasing it round and round trying to get a 
good view of it. Their comb was an ordinary 
curry comb, which presumably had dropped 
from the vest pocket of some canine pursuer. 

Jenny saved her own combings, putting 
them carefully away in a box made of Squir- 
rel bark. I noted afterward that she had 
stuck little bits of fur on some of the thorns 
in the brier patch where she and Chee-Wee 
lived, after the manner of Hop o' My Thumb, 
who dropped pebbles in the wood that he 
might find his way home again. This was to 
guide Chee-Wee to the family residence in 
time of need. 

It is not generally known that Rabbits 
make a blanket to cover their babies out of 
tufts of fur which they pick from themselves. 



I So The Book of Clever Beasts 

Jenny's blanket was a beauty and exemplified 
the arts and crafts movement among the 
Rabbits in a particularly striking way. 

The background was white, and on it, in 
bold relief, was a large brown Rabbit, just 
vanishing around the corner of the blanket. 
Below was the motto, " Always Keep Your 
Front Feet off the Landscape." 

When this blanket was soiled, she washed it 
in the brook, using a bit of soap bark on the 
more soiled places, and hanging it out to dry 
on a line from home. Thinking that Chee- 
Wee might possibly take cold, I offered her a 
small square of brussels carpet for them to 
sleep under. It was the best I had, but she 
disdained the offering, and upon examining 
it closely, I saw why. Neither of them could 
have slept under it, because the nap was all 
worn off. 

Rabbits love rose bushes and even that fine, 
new, man-made rose bush which climbs all 
over the country — the barbed wire fence. 
Jenny taught Chee-Wee how to lead his 
enemies into the fence and how to take the 
flying leap through the wires, leaving not so 



Jenny Ragtail i8i 

much as a tuft of fur behind to tell the tale. 
That summer Chee-Wee killed two Dogs, a 
Weasel, a Skunk, and three Bull Frogs, who 
were chasing him across the country, at dif- 
ferent times, of course, by leading them full 
blast into this dangerous fence. Here they 
always hung until some of their mourning 
friends or relatives would come and cut down 
the body. 

A Rabbit's nose is exactly like the paper 
pin-wheels the children make and pin to the 
end of a stick. When the children run, with 
the stick held straight out in front of them, 
the pin-wheel whirls merrily, as everyone 
knows. A Rabbit's nose has an interior for- 
mation of precisely the same size and shape, 
which revolves on an axis of cartilage at the 
slightest movement of the wearer. Thus does 
Nature care for her children. 

Chee-Wee would never eat anything until 
his mother had certified to the quality of it. 
She always had to taste of it first, to be sure 
that it was all right, and frequently he took 
the food out of her mouth, in this way be- 
coming very fond of hash. I have often seen 



i82 The Book of Clever Beasts 

them nibbUng the ends of a long blade of 
grass, coming closer and closer together as the 
grass got shorter, and finally ending in a very 
loving kiss. It was both pretty and touching. 

One cold day, I prepared some spaghetti 
according to Uncle Antonio's method, though 
the pipes that I bought in the village were not 
at all like those that he took out of the interior 
recesses of his organ. We had it for lunch, 
Jenny Ragtail, Chee-Wee, and I, and we all 
ate heartily. 

1 was never more forcibly convinced of the 
truth of the saying that " What is one man's 
meat is another man's poison," than I was 
that afternoon. Personally, I never felt bet- 
ter in my life. A warm glow of brotherly love 
pervaded my entire system, and there was 
enough spaghetti left for my luncheon the fol- 
lowing day, if I could summon up sufficient 
self-denial to keep it that long. 

But in less than an hour, Jenny and Chee- 
Wee were both very sick. Chee-Wee lay on 
the ground at the foot of a pine tree, and his 
mother, pitiable though her condition was, 
hobbled off to the marsh for some medicine. 



Jenny Ragtail 183 

When she returned, weak and exhausted, 
she had a large quantity of teaberries. She 
brewed these into a strong, bitter liquid over 
my fire, with boiling water from my tea-kettle. 
She dosed Chee-Wee with it liberally, then 
drank some of it herself. In half an hour, 
they were capering around as usual, and I was 
much pleased with Jenny's cleverness. 

Seeing that the mixture was a good Hare 
tonic, I rubbed some on my dome of thought 
where the thatching was thin, but it did not 
work in the same way. 

The next day, when I brought out the plate 
of spaghetti for my luncheon, intending to 
divide, as usual, with my guests, they both scam- 
pered off at such a mad pace that I could 
see nothing but a cloud of dust and the gleam 
of light from their white tails. I did not know 
that anything on earth could go at such a 
pace as that, though my mother used to tell 
me, when she was making my gingham shirts, 
that brown and white were always fast colours. 
I believe it now, but I did not then, for those 
shirts never used to get me to school on time 
during the swimming season, and, indeed, often 



1 84 The Book of Clever Beasts 

delayed me, with unaccountable knots in the 
sleeves. 

Chee-Wee soon grew into a good-sized Rab- 
bit. He used to stand up on his hind legs and 
bite the trees as high as he could reach. One 
tree, a few feet from my cabin door, is scarred 
with these tiny teeth marks from the height of 
one inch above the ground, where he could 
just reach when he was a little baby Rabbit, up 
to three feet and eighteen inches from the 
ground, which measured his height in his 
prime. 

Any Rabbit, passing through the woods, 
would know that he was on Chee-Wee's 
reservation, and would stop to measure his 
height on the tree. If he was taller than 
Chee-Wee, he would go on, and when they 
met, they would fight it out with claw and 
tooth and fang and the wild rush through the 
long-burrows that honeycombed the earth be- 
neath my cabin. If the trespasser was not as 
tall as Chee-Wee, he would go away, taking 
long jumps that he might not leave any 
tracks. 

This custom is also followed out by Bears, 



Jenny Ragtail 185 

as any writer on the subject will tell you. I 
am always willing to give my fellow Unna- 
turalists credit for what they see. Goodness 
knows it is little enough, compared with what 
I have done. 

Jenny's school was near the lake, beyond 
a hill, and securely sheltered from observation 
except from the water. When a canoe ap- 
proached, they all had plenty of time to hide 
before it came near enough to be dangerous. 
These brown, fuzzy things are so much like 
the landscape that they are fully protected. 

Usually, a Rabbit does not travel much in 
the daytime. They are nocturnal animals and 
by day they sit in forms, or cases, that they 
have made of grass and leaves and their comb- 
ings and stationed in secluded spots. When 
they get tired of living in one place, they 
change their spots, but it always means the 
building of a new form. 

The Rabbits were not afraid of me, how- 
ever, and I shall never forget the day that I 
rowed up silently along the shore and came 
upon Mistress Jenny's school. The baby 
Rabbits were all sitting on toadstools, with 



1 86 The Book of Clever Beasts 

their spehing-books held up close to their 
faces. One little Rabbit missed a word while 
I was looking on, and was promptly put to 
bed on account of his sick spell, as was quite 
right and proper. 

There was a large map made on the hill 
just back of the teacher's desk, and a tin pail, 
freshly filled with water, stood in one corner. 
They drank out of a nutshell, cunningly chis- 
elled by sharp little teeth into the shape of a 
cup, and many were the trips to the corner. 
How it reminded me of my own school- 
days ! 

Another little brown Rabbit, who seemed 
to be a very naughty bunny, brought a Spider 
to school and put it in Jenny's desk while 
she was teaching the youngest class to count. 
Jenny learned what she knew of arithmetic 
from an old Adder that lived under a log in 
the woods. When she saw the Spider, she 
instantly called the culprit to her, and in plain 
sight of the whole school punished him se- 
verely with a lady's slipper that I had unac- 
countably missed from my flower bed. 

Under Jenny's careful tuition, all these little 




. Tt^erTie^Ail 




" In plain sight of tlie whole scliool, punislied him severely with a 
lady's slipper.' 



Jenny Ragtail 187 

Rabbits learned things that their own parents 
would never have had time to teach them. 
Children are born so fast in Rabbit families 
that there is never an opportunity for any one 
set of children to learn more than the merest 
rudiments of education, and this school of 
Jenny's was like a University Extension Centre 
in an Esquimaux village. My cabin became a 
general meeting place for the Rabbits of the 
neighbourhood, and at length they got to be 
rather of a nuisance. Uncle Antonio had 
taken my only pillow with him for Jocko to 
sleep on— dear Uncle was always so consider- 
ate of animals ! — and I was forced to make a 
pair of overalls do duty instead. I used to 
roll these up at night, with a stray feather or 
two in the pockets, and put my weary head 
down over all. Usually, I knew nothing more 
until morning, when Jenny and Chee-Wee 
would come and pat my face with their soft, 
velvety paws, and tell me it was time to get 
breakfast, and, please, could we have breakfast 
food this morning ? 

I used to explain to them that anything that 
was eaten in the morning was breakfast food, 



1 88 The Book of Clever Beasts 

but they were as keen for good cereals as the 
editor of a popular magazine. 

One night my overalls were stolen, so gently 
that I did not know it. I looked all over the 
premises for them and could not find them. 
Jenny seemed troubled also, and after break- 
fast she and Chee-Wee went out to look for 
them. 

In about an hour, they returned, Jenny 
with the trouser legs in her mouth and Chee- 
Wee bringing up the rear. I should never 
have known them for mine, had not the auto- 
graph of the laundry marker been travelling 
with the band. They were torn, and had 
as many small holes in them as a fly screen. 
I was angry and was about to wage a war of 
extermination on the entire Rabbit tribe, but 
Jenny pleaded with me so effectively that I 
refrained. A Rabbit is very cunning when he 
sits up on his hind legs, with his paws folded, 
and looks at you eagerly with his bright 
eyes. 

These are all minor details, however, and 
have been commonly observed by others. 
The only discovery of real importance which 



Jenny Ragtail 189 

I made that Summer was in relation to the 
Rabbit method of communicating with each 
other. Fellow- UnnaturaHsts have written of 
the thumping, the whisker touching, and so-on. 
Some have even attempted to tabulate the 
thump code, but with only partial success. 

My discovery is entirely new and has never 
appeared in any book before. Briefly it is 
this. Rabbits converse with each other by 
means of a deaf-and-dumb alphabet, very 
similar to that made by mutes of our own 
species, using their ears entirely. 

I have not space here to elaborate upon it, 
nor to explain how I happened to discover 
it, but the entire subject will be found in a 
monograph which will be published in pam- 
phlet form as soon as my paper on The 
Rabbit Grain7nar has been read before the 
International Society of Registered Unnat- 
uraHsts. 

Jenny was very clever at making me under- 
stand her, even without resorting to her own 
language. For instance, one day I had given 
her a handful of salt, in response to unmis- 
takable signs and gestures on her part. She 



iQo The Book of Clever Beasts 

tasted of it, sniffed, then sat down upon it and 
began to sway from side to side. I under- 
stood then that she preferred rock salt and 
immediately gave it to her, but was it not 
clever ? Could a human being, without the 
power of speech, have done more ? 

Among themselves, the talk of the Rabbits 
was astonishingly easy and informal. After I 
learned their language, by watching Jenny, 
Chee-Wee, and the friends who used to call 
upon them, I heard, or rather saw, many 
amusing things. All unconscious of my 
familiarity with their speech, they used to 
discuss me in my own presence. 

Once, after a long and prolonged wig-wag- 
ging on the part of an old, grey-whiskered 
Rabbit, I made out this : " Say, Jenny, what 
earthly good is that blamed hermit to you ? 
Have n't you influence enough to get us some 
corn ? 

With a rare gift of repartee, Jenny replied : 
" You 're nothing but a pig. You 've had so 
much corn now that you '11 have to ride in a 
grain elevator if you ever get home." This 
Rabbit lived high up in a hollow tree to 



Jenny Ragtail 191 

be out of the reach of draughts, as he was 
old and rheumatic, and so the speech had a 
double-edged meaning that set all the company 
to sneezing with suppressed mirth. 

Other observers have described a Rabbit 
entertainment, but I doubt if any of them 
have ever seen such a one as fell to my lot to 
witness and even take part in, the night be- 
fore I left my home in the wilderness to take 
my vacant place in the city. I do not know 
that I had been missed in the city, but it was 
pleasant to think so when the Fall rains fell 
upon me, and the woods had a penetrating chill 
which my bravest fire could not subdue. 

I was packing, and Jenny and Chee-Wee 
sat sadly by, heartbroken at the prospect 
of separation. When I packed my little pin- 
cushion, Jenny went out and got a few pine 
needles to put in ; when I gathered up my 
pens and ink, Chee-Wee scampered away to his 
treasure box and brought the skin of a Field 
Mouse for a penwiper. He had prepared and 
cured the skin himself, and I have it still. 

I sat down on the side of my cot, and using 
the deaf-and-dumb alphabet, I spelled out with 



192 The Book of Clever Beasts 

my fingers : " I would take you back with me, 
but you would not like the town, and I shall 
return next Summer." 

Surprised beyond measure, they were dumb 
animals for a moment, then Jenny's ears began 
to work nervously. " We would not go," she 
answered; "we have Winter flannels and are 
very comfortable here. There is going to be 
a party to-night. Will you not come ? " 

" Gladly," I returned, with all sincerity. 
"What shall I bring?" 

With one accord, Jenny and Chee-Wee ran 
to the opposite corner of the cabin and sat 
down on my concertina. They did not know 
how to spell the name of it, so they chose the 
more primitive manner of expression. 

At eight o'clock they called for me. They 
were freshly washed and combed, had picked 
all the burrs out of themselves, and looked 
very spruce indeed. 

We walked about eight miles to a clearing 
in the midst of the woods — a clearing where 
some hunters had once camped. This is the 
kind of a place that Rabbits love. I had 
matches in my pocket, and as soon as I got 



Jenny Ragtail 193 

there I gathered materials for a fire, and peeled 
a large, straight piece of very white birch bark, 
which I set up on a forked stick behind the 
cheerful flame. This rude reflector served 
very well, and threw great pieces of ruddy 
light into the black shadows beyond us. 

There were about twenty Rabbits in the 
gathering, all of whom I knew by sight if not 
by name. Some were brown and some were 
white, and there were an equal number of 
ladies and gentlemen. 

While preparations were going on, the ladies 
and gentlemen promenaded in couples around 
the clearing, arm in arm, doubtless whispering 
tender nothings to each other. They were 
not afraid of me at all, and some of them would 
even come and jump over my foot as it was 
stretched out in front of me. 

The first number on the programme was a 
tug of war engaged in by the gentlemen Rab- 
bits, brown on one side and white on the other. 
The rope was a long strand of Virginia creeper 
from which the leaves had been stripped. The 
brown Rabbits won, and Jenny wig-wagged 
to me with her curiously intelligent ears that 



194 The Book of Clever Beasts 

the brown Rabbits were the stronger, because 
they did not bathe as often as the white ones. 
This was very interesting. I beheve there was 
some old Greek who renewed his strength 
every time he touched the ground, and the 
Rabbits seem to have caught the idea. 

Then there was a hurdle race, a game of 
Leap Frog, another of Follow the Leader, 
and a very fine game of Base Ball. The ball 
was a perfectly round gourd which they had 
found somewhere, and at the proper time 
Chee-Wee brought in a stuffed Bat, which 
gave great interest to the game. The old 
rheumatic Rabbit did not play, but continually 
made love to Jenny while the sport went on. 
Poor Jenny ! I hope she had too much sense 
to go and be an old man's darling. 

Presently the moon came up and I let the 
fire go out. It had warmed the clearing pleas- 
antly, and the birch bark reflector was charred 
so much that it was of no further use. 

Refreshments consisted of clover blossoms, 
dried, preserved rose petals, and toadstools. 
The lady Rabbits did not eat the toadstools, 
and when I asked Jenny why, she patted her 



Jenny Ragtail 195 

stomach suggestively, and then with her deli- 
cate ears spelled out to me that they took up 
too mushroom. 

I was enjoying myself exceedingly, and after 
the refreshments had been cleared away a com- 
mittee of the gentlemen waited upon me, and, 
not knowing that I understood their language, 
pointed suggestively to my concertina, 

I took up the instrument and began to play 
the cake-walk which had first attracted Jenny 
to my side. Instantly the clearing was full of 
flying feet, and those who were not dancing 
were thumping with their hind feet and patting 
out the tune with their paws. One Rabbit, 
who seemed to be the clown of the party, 
would dash around the clearing like the ponies 
at the circus, now and then taking a high jump, 
or two or three ungraceful hops in imitation of 
a Bear trying to dance. It was very amusing. 

Round and round they went, their mobile 
noses whizzing like an automobile as they 
passed. It was like nothing so much as fire- 
works of brown and white fur. 

When I changed the tune, they changed 
their steps also. There was a minuet, in which 



196 The Book of Clever Beasts 

the ladies did themselves proud, and a quad- 
rille in which all joined but the rheumatic 
Rabbit, who knew the calls and thus served 
the first useful purpose of the evening. To 
do him justice, however, I believe that after he 
had eaten all the clover he could hold, he took 
a few choice blossoms to a little brown mouse 
of a Rabbit who seemed not to know anyone. 

While the ladies were cooling off, there was 
a boxing match between two of the most ath- 
letic of the gentlemen, and it was declared a 
draw at the end of the fifth round. These gay 
young bloods refreshed themselves with liberal 
draughts of beer, which was very innocent, 
however, being made of Frog hops. I tried 
it, but it was not to my taste, being clammy in 
flavour and not cold enough. 

The play lasted till long past midnight, and 
I do not believe the merry party would have 
broken up then had I not risen to go home. 
My little furry friends clustered around me 
with many unspoken regrets, but I fear that 
the loss of the concertina was uppermost in 
their thoughts. They had never had music to 
dance to before. 



Jenny Ragtail 197 

My suspicion was strengthened the next day 
when I finished my packing. As before, Jenny 
and Chee-Wee came and camped on the in- 
strument, refusing to move when I attempted 
to put it into my suit case. A generous im- 
pulse struck me, and, attracting her attention, 
I spelled out : " You can use it this Winter if 
you will be very careful of it and not leave it 
outdoors. I shall want it again in the Spring." 

They forgot me, then, and dragged it away 
to some secret treasure-house. Such was the 
ingratitude of the beasts that I never saw 

o 

either of them again, not to mention my in- 
strument, but there are drawbacks in all call- 
ings, so why should there not be in mine ? 
When you com.e to think of it, the work of a 
concertina is wholly composed of drawbacks. 

Sometimes on moonligrht nights, when the 
earth is exquisitely still, I fancy I see the Rab- 
bits dancing in the clearing, and when a faint, 
far-off melody comes to my listening ears, so 
delicate that it might be fairies touching cob- 
web strings, I think perhaps it may be Chee- 
Wee or Jenny Ragtail, playing on my lost 
concertina. 



HOOT-MON 

I WAS in the woods one night at twiHght, 
sitting on a stump, with my face hidden in my 
hands, thinking. I had written about every- 
thing I knew for the magazines, and my work 
was still in demand, but, seemingly, there were 
no new animals. 

While I was thinking, I was knocked sense- 
less by a blow on the head. When I came to, 
there was nothing in sight, and no tracks on 
the smooth mould around me. Only the blood 
which streamed down my face convinced me 
that I was not suffering from an hallucination. 

The doctor who sewed up my head gave me 
a very queer look when I told him how it had 
happened, and then tapped his forehead sug- 
gestively. I suppose he was endeavouring to 
comprehend the situation and was trying to 
stimulate the place in which the phrenologists 
have located the faculty of comprehension. 

After my head got well, I went out and sat 



Hoot-Mon 199 

on the stump once more, determined to pursue 
my investigations at whatever cost. Just as I 
expected, I was hit again, only this time not 
quite so hard. I chased around madly through 
the underbrush, but, as before, I saw nothing. 

That night, when I got up to put another 
bandage on my aching dome of thought, an 
idea struck me. " You blithering idiot," said 
my inner consciousness, " it was an Owl that 
hit you on the head ! " 

Of course it was — what else should it be? 
I went to sleep much reassured, and in the 
morning I determined to prove myself right. 

It must have been my head that attracted 
Hoot-Mon. Owls live on Weasels, Rabbits, 
Squirrels, and Hares. At dusk I took my 
grandmother's old Mink muff, tied a long 
string to it, and went out to the stump. I 
poised the muff airily upon the undergrowth 
and retired to a safe distance. Then I imi- 
tated the Owl's song and twitched the muff 
a bit. 

A great white shape swooped down and 
took up the muff in its talons, tearing at it 
until the interior fell out. Greedily, the Owl 



200 The Book of Clever Beasts 

ate of this, then immediately coughed and dis- 
gorged the whole thing. I laughed wickedly. 
" Hoot-Mon, my dear old friend," said I to 
myself, " that is the time you muffed it." I 
was fully revenged for his attack upon me. 

I followed him to his nest, which was in a 
birch tree about three miles from my cabin. 
I made no attempt to climb to it then, deeming 
the location of it sufhcient work for the time 
beinof. His home was there ; his watch-tower 
was a blasted tree which commanded my front 
door. 

A few days later I made the ascent. Very 
few observers have ever seen an Owl's nest. 
This one was not round, but long and narrow, 
with a great bundle of feathers at one end for 
a pillow. Hoot-Mon was asleep, lying flat on 
his back, with a blanket made of Rabbit skins 
over him, and snoring audibly. In the bot- 
tom of the nest was a Hare mattress. I did 
not disturb him, for he works at night and 
needs his sleep in the daytime. 

An Owl is really a very peculiar beast and 
one that will amply repay study. His sight 
and hearing are wonderful, and his eyes are 



Hoot-Mon 201 

just as good by daylight as by dark, some 
amateurs to the contrary notwithstanding. 

The next time you get hold of a stuffed 
Owl, part the feathers and closely examine his 
ears. You will find that they are long, cres- 
cent-shaped excavations in his face, coming to 
a point over his eyes. They are barbed with 
hairs which act like telephone wires and 
double and redouble the intensity of every 
sound. His eyes are set in deeply, so that 
when he wants to look around, he has to turn 
his head. He cannot see behind him like a 
Rabbit, or a Horse without blinders. 

An Owl's stomach is also very peculiar. 
The alimentary tract is shaped like a wide- 
mouthed vase, with no intervening crop, as in 
most Birds. Hoot-Mon packs his food into 
the flaring top, which is his mouth, and with- 
out chewing, crowds it with one foot down 
through the narrow opening, into the bulb- 
shaped base. In his stomach is a gland which 
secretes hydrochloric acid. 

With this he digests practically everything 
but fur and feathers. The facile stomach 
rolls these into small balls and pushes them 



202 The Book of Clever Beasts 

out through that same door where in they 
went. 

In fact, you can track an Owl by these little 
balls of undigested securities. Sometimes 
they incorporate them into the lining of the 
nest, but more often build a wall, like the de- 
fence of a fort, around their homes. Seeing so 
much fur, the enemy is not disposed to go any 
further. 

I have often seen an Owl sitting on the 
lower branch of a tree in the early dusk, and 
throwing these balls to his children, one at a 
time, as though they were bean-bags. Once, 
when I was watching, one little Owl mistook 
one of them for a Mouse and ate it. The 
father laughed heartily, knowing that the play- 
thinof would soon be returned in the oriofinal 
package. 

The white Owls are very scarce, but I saw a 
great many of them that year. Summer was 
very late, and they had flown around the Arc- 
tic Circle until they got dizzy and had come 
down to chase each other around the larger 
meridians. In the Winter, they get their liv- 
ing by fishing, I have often seen a big white 



Hoot-Mon 203 

Owl, sailing around on a cake of ice which 
perfectly matched his plumage, taking his ease 
like any fisherman in a rowboat. 

They are very clever with their claws and 
will bait their hooks with Worms and Frogs 
which they have caught in the Summer and 
kept on ice until they were ready to use them. 
It is a charming sight to see a white Owl bait 
his hook, toss his line overboard, and wait, 
with sublime patience, until there is a nibble 
at the other end. You can almost hear his 
wild eerie laughter as he draws in his catch 
and eats it, bones and all, without stopping to 
cook it. 

One Winter when some fishermen spilled a 
cargo of dead Fish overboard, the beach was 
so thick with white Owls that you could not 
see the sand. They used nets and gathered 
in the Fish by wholesale, though sometimes an 
Owl would sail out over the water like a Sea- 
gull, catch up a Fish in his claws, and come 
back, laughing, amidst the plaudits of his com- 
panions who were waiting in a row upon the 
shore. No other observer has seen this on so 
large a scale as I have, according to the books, 



204 The Book of Clever Beasts 

but I have a photograph of the beach and of 
one of the Owls, which I shall be glad to show 
to the doubting ones. 

Once, while I was shooting Ducks, I had 
a strange experience. My decoy was a lady 
Duck with a string tied around her leg. I 
had fastened the other end to my boat anchor 
to restrain her natural wandering propensities. 
She was sailing around on the cold water, pro- 
testing at her unhappy plight, when a big white 
Owl heard her profane remarks. 

He sat on a dead branch and giggled for a 
while, then began to make fun of her. At 
this her composure vanished and she began to 
sob, so he rushed to her, on his big, perfectly 
silent wings, lifted her up, gently and tenderly, 
with one great claw, poising her body mean- 
while against his wing, and with the file on the 
inside of his other leg, deliberately filed away 
my string and gave her her freedom. 

I thought she deserved it, so I said nothing, 
and the last I saw of them, they were walking 
down the beach together, wing to wing, co- 
quetting like lovers on a moonlight night. I 
never shot any more Ducks, and refused, ever 




Coquetting like lovers on a moonlight night 



Hoot-Mon 205 

afterward, to wear Duck trousers in the Sum- 
mer time. These garments are really a luxury, 
being made of canvasback Duck. 

In the Winter, the Owls nearly starve, and 
get so thin that they cannot fly. Their big 
wings overbalance them, like a craft carrying 
too much sail, and the wind carries them in 
every direction. In the Winter, if the wind is 
right, you can stand on the beach any day and 
more Owls than you can ever hope to study 
will blow almost into your arms. They are 
not good eating, however, for in the early 
Spring and late Fall they live mainly upon 
mussels and this makes their bodies too mus- 
cular to carve. 

They get so hungry in the Winter that 
they will even eat Cats. In this way I once 
lost a very pretty black and white pussy to 
whom I was much attached. A red Squirrel 
had hidden some walnuts in a little cave near 
my cabin door, and while he was digging them 
up, the Cat saw him and began to stalk him, 
merely by way of amusement. Hoot-Mon 
swooped down upon poor pussy, and she nearly 
scratched his eyes out. Both were game, but 



2o6 The Book of Clever Beasts 

he finally killed her with a terrific blow on the 
head, such as he once gave me, and bore her 
away in triumph to his nest. 

I was inconsolable, and with the fine instinct 
of the animal, Hoot-Mon must have known it. 
Two weeks afterward I found on my door- 
step one morning a small, soft, furry ball, I 
unrolled it and discovered that it was the com- 
plexion of my lost pet, nicely prepared, a neck- 
lace made of her delicate teeth, pierced and 
strung on a fine wire, with a locket made of 
her claws. It was very pretty and touching. 
I would have been glad to have had one of 
her eyes, for a cat's-eye scarf-pin, but that was 
too much to expect. I had long known that 
Owls make an ointment of Cats' eyes, with 
which they rub their own. It is this that en- 
ables them to see in the dark. 

Once I had a very peculiar adventure. I 
had caught a Rat in my cabin and had buried 
the body just outside, in some sand. In 
the night I was awakened by a prolonged 
clucking and a long drawn whoo-oo-oo, the 
characteristic huntinor note of the Owl. For- 
tunately it was bright moonlight. 



Hoot-Mon 207 

I looked out of my window and there was 
Hoot-Mon, a big white furry thing, clucking 
like a Hen and scratching furiously in the 
sand, which rose in a cloud around him and 
nearly obscured him from my scientific gaze. 
My quick, active mind immediately guessed 
that he was excavating for the Rat, and when 
the dust subsided, I saw that I was right. He 
took his prize and hurried away, still clucking. 
Two weeks later, he brought me the ball rep- 
resenting the inedible portions, but this I threw 
away, having no sentimental attachment for 
the Rat. 

It is interesting to see Owls eat. When 
they are very hungry, they are savage about 
their food and tear it apart like the other wild 
things, but when their eagerness is partially 
satisfied, they are as dainty about it as any 
lady. Once I gave Hoot-Mon a bit of nicely 
broiled beefsteak and he received it with un- 
mistakable notes of pleasure in his clucking. 

With the file which Nature has provided on 
the inner side of his right leg, he cut it into 
small, neat morsels and ate it with his left foot 
as though it were a fork. Afterward he came 



2o8 The Book of Clever Beasts 

and wiped his beak upon my handkerchief. He 
had evidently enjoyed the meal very much and 
for some days he hung about my camp-fire, 
watching eagerly for more. 

The following week he fiew into my presence 
with a long stake to which a link or two of 
chain was still attached. I recognised it as 
the peg to which a neighbour's Cow was 
fastened in a distant pasture. He had filed 
off the chain, dug up the peg, and brought me 
the beef stake in the hope that I would broil 
it for him. With gestures I made him under- 
stand that, even so, it would not be edible, and 
he flew away, broken-hearted. 

An Owl moves so silently that you can never 
see him come. Where other Birds have feath- 
ers he has hair, and this makes no noise when 
he moves. You can hear the rustle of a Duck's 
wings, the flutter of a Sparrow or a Lark, and 
the wind fairly screams through the Eagle's 
pinions when you spend a dollar, but the 
breeze makes no more noise blowingf through 
an Owl's wings than it does in passing over 
your own head. 

Owls are as fond of Rats as Chinamen are. 



Hoot-Mon 209 

If you can only catch an Owl you will need 
no Rat-trap, for he will clear the premises of 
the vermin in no time. I caught Bre'r Hush- 
wing once when I was a boy and put him into 
our oat bin. When I went to get him again he 
was dead from indigestion. I dissected him 
and found the heads of eighteen Rats in his 
stomach. The skins of twenty-three more 
were tacked up around the oat bin with their 
own claws. 

I have devoted the preliminary part of this 
paper to the general nature and habits of the 
Owl in order that my readers may fully under- 
stand what is to follow. I do not claim that 
my Owl was more brilliant than the Owls of 
my fellow Unnaturalists, but only that I had 
superior opportunities to study. When a Lit- 
tle Brother of the Woods sees anything that 
I have missed, I do not call him a liar, and I 
expect others to pay the same courtesy to 
me. 

I became so interested in Owls that I deter- 
mined to spend the Winter in my cabin. The 
Snowy Owl is abroad only in Winter — in 
Summer he is grey. Nature changes his flan- 



2IO The Book of Clever Beasts 

nels for him to make him feel safer. " Death 
loves a shininor mark." 

For two weeks and more I went to town 
every day, and each time brought home all the 
provisions I could carry. I bought more ink, 
a ream of paper, and a dozen blue pencils also, 
in order to anticipate the editors. 

It is terrible to live in the woods and see 
Winter come. The Birds and Squirrels go 
south at the first sign of changing foliage, but 
the Rabbits, Weasels, Minks, and other small 
furred creatures remain, There was no snow 
until late in December, but it was bitterly cold. 
When I went out, my breath froze in lateral 
chunks and I would have to break off the 
icicles with a hatchet before I could get into 
my cabin. I had no idea that I breathed so 
much until I saw it in solid form. I had piled 
enough wood at my back door to last an army 
all Winter, and I was very glad indeed that I 
had it when the first snow fell. 

It was an unusually heavy storm for so early 
in the season, being nearly two feet deep on 
the level. Nothing was left for the little crea- 
tures of the woods but the rose hips, the seeds 



Hoot-Mon 211 

of the pine cones, and each other. Indeed, it 
was scanty fare. 

That night while I lay in my warm bed, 
with the fire blazing merrily upon my hearth, 
I heard the deep, long-drawn, sonorous notes 
of an Owl. 

Something in the sound filled me with fore- 
boding. I felt that a fellow-creature of mine 
was out in the woods starving. The impulse 
was strong upon me to get up, put on my 
snow-shoes, and go out to find him, but my 
reason battled steadily against it. 

The mournful cry was repeated, closer still, 
and at last I got up, threw open the door wide, 
and imitated the sound as nearly as possible. 
Almost immediately, cold, wet wings beat 
against my face and a big white Owl, more 
dead than alive, fell full length on the floor of 
my cabin. 

I grasped my brandy bottle and poured a 
liberal quantity down the Bird's throat. Pre- 
sently he sat up, blinked, dragged himself 
over to the fire, and bowed twice to me, very 
gravely, as though to say, " Thank you." 

All that night we sat there, watching each 



212 The Book of Clever Beasts 

other. By nature we were enemies ; by force 
of circumstances we were friends. 

Toward morning Hoot-Mon got up and 
tried to dance, but fell over and went to sleep 
instead. I fixed him up a bed on the floor 
and lifted him over on to it. There he stayed, 
snoring loudly, until the middle of the after- 
noon. Then he awoke, sighed heavily, yawned, 
and rubbed his eyes with the backs of his 
hands. 

"Well, Hoot-Mon," I asked, "do you feel 
better?" 

He came to me, sat down on the table in 
front of me, and nodded, with something very 
like a smile upon his face. It could not rightly 
be characterised as an exact smile, because he 
was too preternaturally solemn. 

I fed him, then opened the door. " Do you 
want to go now ? " I inquired. With a scream 
of dismay, he flew back into the darkest cor- 
ner of the cabin and refused to budge. I un- 
derstood then. He had made up his mind to 
live with me. 

The next day, he found my watch and took 
it out from under my pillow. He seemed 



Hoot-Mon 213 

greatly interested in the mechanism and held 
it to his ear that he might hear it tick. I did 
not especially mind, for the wild animals had 
always taken up my time, more or less, but I 
hid my jewelled repeater and gave him the 
alarm clock, which did just as well. In time 
he learned to set the alarm and would laugh 
like a Parrot when I jumped out of my chair 
at the unexpected report. 

All that Winter, Hoot-Mon and I lived 
together. Often he got hungry for his own 
kind of food, and at such times I would put 
on some red flannel stockings I had made for 
him, without feet, a red flannel shawl, pinned 
closely at the throat, and a face mask, also of 
red flannel, with openings for the eyes and 
beak and those wonderful ears of which I have 
spoken before. 

He got so that whenever he wished to go 
hunting, he would search out these articles 
from the corner of the cabin where they were 
kept, — never forgetting the safety-pin that 
fastened the shawl, — bring them to me, and 
stand very still while I put them on. 

He usually had conspicuous success upon 



2 14 The Book of Clever Beasts 

these hunting trips. He would come back 
with three or four beach Rats, two Rabbits, 
the body of a belated Squirrel who had not 
yet gone south, and more Weasels and Musk- 
rats that a person could count without more 
knowledge of arithmetic than I had. Hoot- 
Mon would skin all of these animals, prefer- 
ably doing the work in the house, and then he 
would store them in a natural cave of ice just 
beyond the wood-pile. 

He gave the skins to me, and I made a 
quilt of them for my cot. He usually ate his 
own food raw, but once he dropped a Musk- 
rat into the pot in which I was making an 
Irish stew, and laughed loud and long at my 
language when I took it out. 

He had many mischievous tricks and would 
often hide my pens, tip over my ink and track 
it all over the fair, smooth pages of my observa- 
tion ledger. At other times, he made himself 
very useful to me, especially on sweeping day. 
Strutting around gravely on one leg, Hoot- 
Mon would sweep the floor first with one 
great wing and then with the other, pushing 
the dirt always toward the door. When he 



Hoot-Mon 215 

had it all in a neat pile and the corners were 
perfectly clean, he would make a signal to me. 
I would open the door, and with a great, for- 
ward sweep of both wings, Hoot-Mon would 
brush all the dirt outside, meanwhile saying 
something that sounded like "shoo ! " It was 
clever of him, but it wearied him greatly and 
he would always take a long nap afterward, 
though he never slept on my bed. I was very 
grateful to him because he was willing to 
sleep in his own corner, remembering a pre- 
vious unhappy experience. 

That Winter, also, he made me a rag car- 
pet. I had a great many pieces of old worsted 
garments, some of them being left by my 
grandmother and others being discarded wear- 
ing apparel of my own. I had also an old red 
blanket which I could not sleep under because 
there was a large hole in the centre which 
acted like a chimney and created a draught. 
Some white cotton cloth was among the pieces, 
and I gave him two old sheets, with which he 
was greatly pleased. 

First, he tore all the cloth into strips about 
half an inch wide, fastening these together 



2i6 The Book of Clever Beasts 

with a pine needle and some linen thread I 
gave him, and with his claws and beak rolled 
it into a ball very similar to those made in his 
stomach. When he had the rags all torn and 
sewed together, he began work, and I do not 
think, in all my career as an Unnaturalist, I 
have ever seen such wonderful intelligence in 
an animal. 

I can never describe the way he did it, 
thoueh I watched him for hours, uninter- 
ruptedly. With claws and beak and wings he 
was continually at work, tying knots, twisting, 
weaving in and out, rolling and turning in 
every conceivable way. Finally he turned his 
back to me and would not let me see what he 
was doing. 

Respecting his wish for secrecy, I paid no 
further attention to him then, but the next 
time he went hunting I hunted for his work. 
I did not find it, but when he came back, he 
knew instantly what I had been doing and 
pecked my face so severely that the blood 
came. He also opened up the old wound on 
my head. Needless to say. I did not offend 
him in that way again. 



Hoot-Mon 217 

He worked nights, after that, while I slept. 
Many a time I have wakened and seen poor, 
faithful Hoot-Mon sitting by the fire, patiently 
toiling at his self-appointed task. 

On the morning of my birthday, he pre- 
sented me with a wonderful rug, a yard wide 
and long enough to go across the cabin directly 
in front of my bed. The background was red 
and black and in the centre, entirely in white, 
was an enormous Owl with outstretched wings 
— his own portrait to the life ! 

It was marvellous that he should do it 
with only the primitive implements with which 
Nature had provided him, and I praised him 
early and often. When I stroked him and 
patted his head, he would strut around with 
his head in the air, purring and clucking. 

This story may seem almost incredible, but 
I have the rug and a photograph of the Owl 
that did it. These things will be on exhibi- 
tion at the time and place printed in the cata- 
logue in the appendix. Both my publishers 
and myself will be glad to have all the doubt- 
ing ones investigate. The entire " H " exhibit 
will be distinguished by the green flag of Ire- 



2 1 8 The Book of Clever Beasts 

land, because the things came from the 
"ovvld " country. 

Hoot-Mon was very much interested in my 
hat and used to kick it around the cabin and 
play with it as a Kitten plays with a ball of yarn. 
I determined to make him one of his own 
and cut out a paper pattern, fitting it together 
with pins. I made one of the cocked hats worn 
by Colonial soldiers, and put a gay feather in 
the top. The result was very pleasing, to me, 
at least, and all went well until I attempted to 
put it on Hoot-Mon's head. 

He snorted loudly, clawed, kicked, and splut- 
tered like an angry Hen. His eyes glared so 
fiercely that I was afraid of him and ran out- 
doors, cold as it was, without hat or coat. I 
stayed until his wrath had somewhat subsided, 
then cautiously ventured back. He had burned 
the offending hat in the open fire and the 
ashes of it lay upon the hearth. He sat on 
his perch in the corner, wrapped in im- 
penetrable gloom through which his eyes 
burned like live coals. 

It was not until the next day that I learned 
why he had been so mortally offended, and I 



Hoot-Mon 219 

hit upon the truth only by accident. I had 
unfortunately selected foolscap paper for the 
pattern. I had legal cap in the house and 
could have made him a lawyer's bonnet just 
as well as not, if I had only thought of it. 

Strangely enough, Hoot-Mon and I never 
had any well defined method of communica- 
tion, though we lived together in intimate 
association for so long-. 

I tried him with the deaf-and-dumb alpha- 
bet, but he paid no attention to it. I wrote 
out the various things I wished to say to him 
and offered him the slips of paper, but he did 
not eat them or try to read them, and in memory 
of the insult I once offered him, I presume, he 
threw the slips into the fire as fast as I could 
write them. He had no ears that he could 
wig-wag signals with, and his own vocabu- 
lary was confined to two or three syllables, 
the phrasing and intonation of which varied 
scarcely at all. 

He presented a strange bundle of contra- 
dictions, for he was slow witted at times, yet 
did not understand English, and too quick to 
jump at conclusions at others, yet the United 



2 20 The Book of Clever Beasts 

States language passed him by unharmed. 
He ate Frogs but did not understand French, 
sausage and beer, without knowing German, 
and though he roosted by preference in the 
attic, he did not know Greek. He was 
very fond of oatmeal, but he had not the 
faintest comprehension of Scotch, though I 
caught him once, with my spectacles on, poring 
over a book of Scotch dialect which I had in 
my library. He burned the book afterward, 
which I did not in the least regret — I had medi- 
tated doinor it for some time. 

I tried him with phrases from every known 
tongue, but they all seemed alike to him. He 
did not have a speaking acquaintance with 
a single modern language, so far as I was 
able to discover. Very possibly he under- 
stood them all, but did not wish to let people 
know the extent of his knowledge. Perhaps 
it is his monumental silence which has given 
him his well deserved reputation for wisdom. 
At any rate, it contains a hint worth passing 
on, for there is a great deal of trouble in this 
world which is not caused by people keeping 
their mouths shut. 



Hoot=Mon 22 1 

So Hoot-Mon and I lived through the 
most terrible Winter ever known in that 
latitude. The unaccustomed warmth of the 
cabin made him moult while the snow was yet 
deep upon the ground. He ate the feathers, 
afterward disgorging them in the usual ball 
when he had enough to make it worth the 
trouble. I have all of these little balls now, 
put away with my most treasured possessions. 

He was a pitiful sight when all of his 
feathers were gone, and he caught cold. His 
cough distressed me greatly and his spirits 
drooped perceptibly. He had chills at regular 
intervals and his poor body was all covered 
with goose flesh. He wore his shawl, pinned 
closely at the throat with a safety-pin, until 
the feathers began to sprout again. While 
his head was moulting, he also wore his face 
mask. 

Presently, however. Nature resumed busi- 
ness at the old stand and his body was covered 
with grey down. He looked like an Angora 
Cat at this stage. I examined the growth 
minutely with a magnifying-glass and was 
surprised to find that each feather grew up 



22 2 The Book of Clever Beasts 

from a single stalk, like a plant, and sent out 
numerous branches which were closely inter- 
woven with the branches from the stalk next 
to it. This is why an Owl's wings make no 
sound ; the wind passes under these branched 
feathers and the noise is smothered. You 
cannot hear the wind blow if you have a pillow 
over your head. 

At last the backbone of Winter broke with 
a loud crash and the Chinook wind blew in from 
the south, laden with warm rain. The songs 
of Robins and Bluebirds were in the breath of 
it, though the snow was yet deep upon the 
ground, and my dooryard was filled with 
hungry Birds. 

" Who would not give a Winter seed for 
a Summer song ? " 

I went out one day, with my shovel, and 
Hoot-Mon followed me, warmly wrapped in 
his shawl. I chose the lofty stump that was 
his watch-tower and began to shovel a clear 
space. He sat on top of it, well out of reach 
of draughts, and watched me. I intended to 
keep a free lunch set out here for the Birds. 

Round and round I shovelled, keeping 



Hoot-Mon 223 

always in a circle. Hoot-Mon never took his 
eyes off me — his devotion was absolutely pa- 
thetic. When I had finished, I galloped 
around the stump a few times to get warm, 
as it was still bitterly cold. 

I began to get dizzy, but I went on faster 
and faster, for the blood was singing in my 
pulses and it was good to be alive. I was 
stopped in my mad rush by the most astound- 
ing thing that could have happened. 

Hoot-Mon's head, bleeding profusely, and 
with the eyes staring from their sockets, fell 
at my feet. On the stump, still clad in the 
shawl, was his lifeless body. 

I was stunned, and it was more than an hour 
before I saw how it had happened. It was my 
own fault ; no one but myself was to blame. An 
Owl will turn his head, but never his body, and 
Hoot-Mon had followed me around the stump 
with his fond eyes until he had wrung his own 
neck. 

It was too terrible, and I am not ashamed 
to say that a man's salt tears bedewed the 
downy body of my pet as I lowered him into 
his grave. I made him a shroud of my only 



2 24 The Book of Clever Beasts 

remaining sheet and covered him with my last 
pillow slip. I did not begrudge them to him 
in the least, and I still have his red flannel 
shawl. This pathetic relic will be found by 
the reader in its proper place in the exhibit. 

The shocking; occurrence saddened me so 
much that I gave up my study of Unnatural 
History and returned to the city, where I 
speedily found some honest employment which 
paid me fairly well. 

At times, the voices of the wilderness call 
me, but I dare not go back, lest the old magic 
of the woods take my spirit into slavery 
again. 

Sometimes, at night, I start from my sleep, 
thinking that poor Hoot-Mon's bleeding head 
is again at my feet. It is a consolation, how- 
ever, to know that he did not suffer any more 
than a spring broiler which is prepared for the 
market, and, after all, it may have been a 
kinder fate than the one which was waiting 
for him somewhere in the gloom of the tall 
pines, for the end of a wild animal is always a 
tragedy. 



APPENDIX 

Realising that much of this work must, of 
necessity, seem almost incredible to all save 
genuine Little Brothers of the Woods, I have, 
at great expense and difficulty, secured for 
exhibition purposes a collection of relics which 
will fully substantiate every statement I have 
made. 

This exhibition will be an annual affair, and 
will be held in the main office of my publishers, 
on the thirty-first day of November only. 

Admission is free to all who hold a copy 
of this book under the left arm. Copies are 
not transferable. 

The complete catalogue will be found on the 
following pages. 




CATALOGUE 

Printed at a Logging Camp on Genuine Wood Pulp Paper. 

Ai Photograph of Tom-Tom taken just before we 
went to the woods. 

A2 Photograph of grandmother's cabin in the 
clearing. 

A3 Picture of Little Upsidaisi. 

A4 Mainspring of my jewelled repeater. 

A5 One of Tom-Tom's boots. 

A6 Umbrella with which I wrote messages in the 
sand. 

A7 Straw from the broom, slit at one end. 

A8 Cat egg, blown. 

A9 Square of red blanket. 

Aio Returned manuscript. 

An The same. 

A12 The same. 

A13 Another one. 

A14 Cigar box in which Little Upsidaisi slept. No- 
tice tail slot. 

A15 Morse Code, in my writing. 

A16 Empty cyanide bottle. 

A17 Postage stamp, such as is used for manuscripts 
(cancelled). 

Bi Photograph of Porcupine Hill. 

B2 Picture of the post-ofifice. 

227 



2 28 Catalogue 

B3 Porcupine quill. 

B4 Goatsrue, dried. 

B5 The empty flask. 

B6 An unpaid bill. 

B7 Broken link from chain filed by Jagg. 

B8 Pen-and-ink sketch of Ab. 

B9 Jagg's hat. 

Bio Photograph of Jagg's headstone. 

Ci Cotton, such as I put into my ears. 

C2 Copy of The Ladies Own (much worn, but still 

legible). 
C3 The prescription. 

C4 Copy of The Girlies Close Companion. 
C5 Literary note from New York Times, date 

appended. 
C6 Bear trap, half size. 

C7 Geyser House, from hotel advertisement. 
C8 Slab of near-food, motto, " Excelsior." 
C9 Astronomical charts of Ursa Major and Ursa 

Minor. 
Cio Pen-and-ink sketch of Snoof and Snooflet, 

star-gazing. 
Cii Story of Goldenhair and the Three Bears, 

type-written. 
C12 Bottle of water from the sulphur spring, where 

Growler bathed. 
C13 Comb, such as is used by Bears. 
C14 Miranda's china mug. 
C15 My clothes, which Growler wore. 
C16 Miranda's croquet mallet. 
Di Receipted hotel William (framed). 
D2 Enlarged portrait of Kitchi-Kitchi. 



Catalogue 229 

D3 A home-made biscuit. 

D4 Blue Jay feather. 

D5 Music of Squirrel duet, melody only. 

D6 Squirrel egg, blown. 

D7 Boat from Squirrel fleet, 

Ei Picture of Jim Crow. 

E2 Photograph of broken window- 

E3 Section of crowbar. 

E4 Crocus bulb. 

E5 Eye of potato, in alcohol. 

E6 Fragments of the clay cast. 

E7 Jim's crutch. 

E8 Cornet half full of molasses. Guests may blow 

it free. 
E9 Spectacle frames, 
Eio Pressed burdock leaf. 

Eii Poe's poem, The Raven (Arnheim edition). 
E12 The cordial glass. 
E13 My diamond pin (in glass case). 
E14 Section of Johnny-cake, main formation. 
E15 Photograph of perch. 

E16 Picture of me, showing crow's feet around eyes. 
E17 Milk pan. 
E18 Malted milk bottle. 
Fi Pen drawing of Uncle Antonio's organ. 
F2 Score of // Trovatore. 
F3 Pressed foxglove. 

F4 Pen sketch of Hoop-La, from memory. 
F5 Pen drawing of imaginary encounter between 

Uncle and a cross country tramp, 
F6 Bottle of capers. 
F7 Sketch, from memory, of the quilt pattern. 



^30 Catalogue 

F8 A new cent, 1904 mintage. 

F9 Recipe for spaghetti, written in gold, framed, 

and chained to the counter. Guests may obtain 

permission to copy at cashier's desk. 
Fio Photograph of horse in bridle chamber. 
Fi I Impressionist picture of the rescue of Jocko. 
Gi My concertina, in picture in catalogue. 
G2 Score of Bedelia. 
G3 Copy of Uncle Remus. 
G4 Snake discovered by Chee-Wee. 
G5 Brier Rose (my writing). 
G6 Toothpick. 
G7 Bottle of sand. 

G8 Pen sketch of Jenny drawing map. 
G9 Better picture of same thing, Wild Animals 1 

Have Knoivji, page 122. 
Gio Minnow, stuffed. 
Gii Curry-comb, used by Rabbits. 
G12 Box of Squirrel bark. 
G13 Drawing of Jenny's blanket. 
G14 Square of Brussels carpet with nap gone. 
G15 Working drawing of Rabbit's nose. 
G16 Bottle of Hare tonic (sealed). 
G17 Rabbit form. 

G18 Drawing from memory of Jenny's school. 
G19 My overalls. 

G20 Drawing of Rabbit entertainment. 
G21 Superior picture of same thing, Ways of Wood 

Folk, page 50. 
G22 Bottle of beer made from Frog hops (open). 
Hi Remnants of grandmother's Mink muff, 
H2 Diagram of Owl's nest. 



Catalogue 231 

H3 Working drawing of Owl's stomach. 

H4 Crystals of hydrochloric acid. 

H5 Undigested securities. 

H6 The same. 

H7 More. 

H8 More. 

H9 The same. 

Hio Another one. 

Hi I Picture of beach. 

H12 Picture of Owl. 

H13 Pen drawing of Owl and Duck, flirting. 

H14 Owl file, petrified. 

H15 Mussel, in alcohol. 

H16 Skin of poor pussy. 

H17 Necklace and bangle. 

H18 The beef stake. 

H19 Blue pencil. 

II20 Empty brandy bottle. 

H21 Alarm clock. 

H22 Page from observation ledger, showing Hoot- 

Mon's tracks. 
H23 The rug. 

H24 Photograph of Hoot-Mon, life size. 
H25 Sheet of foolscap. 
H26 Pattern of Colonial hat. 
H27 Hoot-Mon's shawl. 
H28 Rabbit's tail in alcohol. (This exhibit has the 

words, "A tragedy," lettered on the bottle, 

being the end of a wild animal.) 



BV MVRTUB RBBD 



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Violin." 

The Book of Clever Beasts 

studies in Unnatural History 

Fully illustrated by Peter Newell 



A humorous book, hitting off the many writers who have 
returned to Nature and made intimate friends in the Animal 
World. The author describes the super-human intelligence 
to be found by the discerning among our kindred of the wild. 
All those who love gentle humor will be entertained by the 
whimsical story of " Little Upsidaisi," and no reader can fail 
to laugh at the antics of "Jagg, the Skootaway Goat." 

The illustrations by Peter Newell are in this clever artist's 
happiest vein and bring out to the full the humor of the text. 



New York — G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS — London 



20 W 




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